


Her Majesty's Secret Service

by ButterscotchCandybatch



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alpha Sherlock, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Sex, Dubious Consent, Fivesome - M/M/M/M/M, Graphic violence in some chapters see chapter notes, John Watson in Afghanistan, Lots of John back-story, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Multi, Omega John, Omega Verse, Oral Sex, Pre-Canon, Threesome - M/M/M, Vibrators, canon compliant series 1 & 2, lots of really dubious consent and self esteem issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-13
Updated: 2014-09-12
Packaged: 2018-01-04 11:47:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 33
Words: 92,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1080652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ButterscotchCandybatch/pseuds/ButterscotchCandybatch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson was not the first Omega to serve in the army as a medic to a unit of Alpha Marines, but he gave his service a very… personal touch. Omegaverse with Omega!John. Mostly pre-canon but with eventual Johnlock with Alpha!Sherlock. Trigger warnings for pretty much every chapter for dub-con - because let’s face it the whole Omegaverse is pretty dubious regarding consent issues and this work explores those issues in a fair bit of detail. Some war/injury scenes as well but I will warn for those separately in the relevant chapters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Serviceman](https://archiveofourown.org/works/447354) by [PrettyArbitrary](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrettyArbitrary/pseuds/PrettyArbitrary). 



> From a prompt from kinkmeme: http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/18842.html?thread=113434522 which then got way out of hand!
> 
> This is a Johnlock story, but first I wanted to explore John's life in Afghanistan and all the smutty Omegaverse antics he got up to while he was there. If you want to skip ahead to the magic moment when John and Sherlock meet, jump to Chapter 13 when this story finally catches up with canon. I'm sorry to say you won't miss much plot, just lots of smut!

The first time it happened by accident.

Lt. John Watson had already put up the “no service” sign on the door of the First Aid station, and was slowly packing everything away for his four-day leave. Not that he was going anywhere, of course. Even if Afghanistan had boasted vacation spots worth visiting he was never going to see them. “Personal leave” (which everyone knew was just a euphemism for “heat leave”) did not allow him to go more than a few kilometres from the army base, and in fact he would probably spend it all in his own quarters anyway. With his favourite dildo. Not as good as being bent over and taken by a real Alpha, but the best he could manage out here in the desert.

He rather resented having to take the time off for his biological needs, but he knew it would create havoc in the unit if he tried to continue to work and offer medical care while in heat. His particular unit was a very highly trained and finely tuned network exclusively of Alpha Marines. He was very proud of their work and had no thought of disrupting their unit cohesion by his presence in heat. The last thing he wanted was to see his unit at each other’s throats fighting over him. At least the leave was granted in excess of his other leave, so he was not burning up his sick leave days every time he had his heats. The Omega Anti-Discrimination laws had seen to that.

So here he was, rolling bandages and packing away IV lines in strict military order. This way if anyone else needed to access any of the equipment it would all be exactly where it should be. He had cut it rather fine this month. He could already feel himself beginning to sweat as pre-heat hormones started to flush through his body. Soon, he promised himself. Just finish sorting out the plaster trolley and then go have a lovely long shower. His shirt was starting to stick to his skin already. Definitely a shower first.

He checked the time: only 16:20. Damn, another forty minutes before he could close up completely and head back to his quarters. Would anyone mind if he knocked off early? Probably not, under the circumstances, but what if someone urgently needed a medic and he was not to be found? His replacement would not be available through the paging system until 17:00.

He sighed and started collecting the loose papers on the desk for filing. Not really his job, but he needed something to distract himself from the uncomfortable damp stickiness starting to collect under his arms and in the small of his back.

Still only 16:25 and John suddenly decided he could not stand it a moment longer. He would never desert his post, but there was nothing in the regulations about taking off his shirt early, was there? Dammit, even if there was something about “proper uniform” in the book he would be very unlucky to get caught and prosecuted in the last thirty-five minutes of his shift before a heat leave. He stripped off his shirt and sighed with relief at the cool air across his torso. Usually the heat in Afghanistan was not too much of a bother for him, except at this time of the month. He kicked off his shoes and socks as well, for good measure.

More comfortable than he had been all day, John started whistling as he put away the last few clean instruments and restocked the IV supplies. He was interrupted by a brisk military double knock at the door and the unit’s assistant medic poked his head around the door frame.

“John, if you haven’t left yet, Tony just wanted a…” Bill trailed off as he caught sight and scent of John. Half-naked, sweating John already flushed with heat hormones. Bill closed his mouth and swallowed audibly.

John turned and looked over his shoulder. “Sorry Bill, I didn’t catch that. What does Tony need? Not another bloody hangover cure. Tell him this is the last time and next time I expect him to buy his own bloody paracetamol.” John caught up a box out the trolley he was sorting and pitched it underhand to Bill where he was standing in the doorway. It bounced off his chest as Bill made no move to catch it.

“Hey, Bill.” John frowned and started to make his way across the room. “What’s the matter? Are you OK?”

“Oh God, John.” Bill suddenly put up both hands in a warding-off motion. “Do you know what you look like, what you smell like? You should have requested urgent relief for your heat leave.”

John shrugged. “It’s only another half an hour. It’ll be fine.”

Bill stepped fully into the First Aid station, closing the door behind himself and leaning against it. “What will be fine, John? You might be fine, but what about me?” He looked at the ceiling and licked his lips. “You smell pretty damn fine, John. When are you off duty, say again?”

John sidled uneasily a bit further away from Bill, who was still avoiding his eyes. “I’m off in another twenty minutes, actually. But if you are suggesting… helping me through this heat, I’m not sure that’s a good idea. Might be a problem for unit cohesion if it became known that we were…”

“We could be…” Bill suddenly locked his eyes on John’s and started prowling across the room, never letting his gaze waver. John felt a chill in his gut. This was no longer his friend and colleague in the room, this was an aroused Alpha who was stalking him.

“Bill! Bill, think of the unit! This is me, John, your drinking buddy, your mate…” Too late, John realized his unfortunate choice of words had turned a delicate situation into a disaster.

“My mate, yes…” hissed Bill, and sprang.

All the Alphas of the unit were bigger and stronger than John. They were all soldiers trained in hand to hand combat, but Bill topped him by twenty centimetres and thirty kilos of pure muscle. Before John could blink twice he was pinned against the desk. This could only end one way.

John shrugged internally and let his Omega-self rise to the surface. If this was going to happen, he might as well enjoy it. He hadn’t been royally buggered for a long time, and if Bill’s crushing arms around him were any indication this was going to be an excitingly rough shag.

John tilted his head forward to allow Bill to scent the nape of his neck, and to signal his submission. He felt the imprisoning embrace relax slightly as the message was received, and Bill’s nips along his shoulder and neck softened into gentler bites and kisses. The hard pressure of an Alpha cock into his lower back was no less urgent though.

“Let me just slip these off, love.” John whispered over his shoulder, as he quickly unfastened his belt and trousers. In one smooth move he slid everything off the lower half of his body, giving thanks that he was already barefoot. In this mood Bill was likely to rip his fatigues right off him and that would require difficult explanations when he requisitioned a new pair.

In less than a second after he was naked Bill was plastered all over his back again. Bill’s hands wandering down his front to tease his nipples and stroke his little Omega cock. Bill was crooning in his ear, “Does that feel good, John? I’m going to make you so happy, John. Tell me you want me to make it good for you…”

John rolled his eyes a little, knowing that Bill couldn’t see. Even in the middle of a heat-driven crazed sexual encounter the good old Alpha ego always needed a little stroking. Still, the stroking that Bill was giving him in return was putting John in a _very_ good mood, and his heat was rising fast now to match the eagerness of the Alpha behind him. Bill’s pheromones and bites were causing John’s hormones to tip into full heat sooner than he might have if he had been alone in his room. It was lucky John had already removed his trousers or they would be hopelessly soaked with the natural lubricant which was already pouring out of him. Actually, Bill’s trousers were getting very wet but he did not seem to be bothered by it.

“Yes, love, I’m so wet for you,” John replied, “Feel how eager I am for you. I want you inside me, filling me, taking me.” He wriggled his hips against Bill and felt a thrust in return.

“Right here, John? Are you ready for me to take you right now? Please let me take you right now.” Bill was tugging at his belt with one hand but was unable to work the buckle without taking his other hand off John’s cock. Obviously he had no intention of doing that. Finally he just yanked the belt and the buckle gave way, then Bill was shoving down his trousers.

John did a quick scan around the room. He had no particular objection to being taken over the desk, but there was an examination bed only a few metres away which would be a lot more comfortable. He decided to try for it. Worst case scenario they might end up on the floor half-way between.

“Bill? Honey? This desk is a bit sharp against my hips.” John put a little whine into his voice. “If you want me to enjoy it more, maybe the bed?”

Bill growled and grasping John by the hips, turned and lifted him bodily and carried him across the room to the bed. He dropped John on his back and stood over him looking down for a moment, while John struggled to regain the breath that had been knocked out of him as he landed.

Then there was no time to breathe, or even to think. Bill was all over him biting, licking, sucking. His hands were teasing and stroking until John was overwhelmed by a sensual tornado. All he was aware of was that he was still empty, his desperate longing to be filled yet unsatisfied.

John finally managed to focus enough to gasp out, “Take me now! Fill me with your Alpha cock, I need it!” He pulled his knees up and apart, exposing his slick entrance and was immediately rewarded with the sensation of Bill’s erection prodding at him. John took a deep breath and allowed his knees to sag apart as widely as possible and with a smooth thrust of his pelvis Bill slid deeply into him. They both groaned as they fitted together, perfectly matched. John wrapped his legs around Bill’s waist and pulled him deeper into his body, even as Bill slid his hands behind John’s shoulders to press their chests together. John bit down on Bill’s shoulder to encourage him and Bill bucked his hips in response.

“Oh God, yes, just like that,” panted John as every thrust of Bill’s cock pushed deeply against his sweet spot. It was perfection and John abandoned himself to the mounting waves of hot pleasure washing over his whole body. It was glorious and John wanted it to go on forever, even while he could feel the spectacular ending rapidly approaching.

Bill was growling deep in his chest and the vibrations through John’s body were turning him on so much he could hardly stand it. Then Bill reached down into the narrow sweaty space between their bodies and pumped John’s shaft firmly up and down the entire length and John was screaming and spurting all over both of them. His internal muscles clamped down on Bill’s cock with rapid tight pulses and Bill was groaning and filling John with his seed. He collapsed on top of John even as his knot inflated, binding them together and creating a delightful pressure against John’s internal walls. They held and stroked one another as their breathing slowed and they relaxed together in a satisfied, sweaty pile.

Just then the door slammed open and two Alpha marines burst in shouting, “John! John are you all right? We heard you screaming!” Captain Spiers and Lt. Wright gave one horrified glance at the scene of debauchery in front of them and started trying to wrench Bill off John.

“Ow! Wait!” yelled John. “We’re knotted together, just give us a minute willya? I’m fine, it’s all fine.” John winked at them over Bill’s shoulder. “More than fine, actually. My heat has started and Bill was just helping me.”

Captain Spiers’ eyes widened and his nostrils flared as he scented John’s heat pheromones and the smell of sweat and semen in the small room.

“I’m off-duty now, you know.” John added in a smaller voice. “You don’t think this will be bad for the unit, do you Captain? There won’t be any jealousy because of this?” John frowned anxiously.

The Captain nuzzled John’s neck and kissed his way along John’s jaw to his mouth. He kissed John and thoroughly explored his mouth before replying, “I don’t see why anyone should be jealous when there is plenty of you to go around.” _  
_


	2. Chapter 2

The second time it happened by order of the Captain. More or less.

Bill’s knot finally deflated and he slipped out of John’s body to curl up on the examination couch and go to sleep. The intensity of the unexpected heat-driven mating had completely exhausted him. John sighed at the loss of contact.

Captain Spiers and Lt. Wright had been quietly talking together on the other side of the room, but the Captain heard John’s sigh. He came over and lifted John up, gently cradling him against his body.

“Mmm,” murmured John. “I’m not sure I’m quite ready to go again yet, Cap.”

“Shhh, of course not. Let us take care of you, John.” Waving Lt. Wright ahead of him into the bathroom, the Captain carried John to the shower and carefully placed him on his feet in the cubicle. “Matthew, turn on the water,” he instructed the lieutenant. “Can you stand, John?” he asked tenderly.

“Not sure,” mumbled John, leaning against the shower wall. He closed his eyes and waited for someone to start the shower. A shower would be lovely, he was so hot and sticky, but he was so sleepy he didn’t think he could start it himself. He thought he heard someone turning on taps and adjusting the water temperature but he was out of the spray and too tired to move. He felt strong arms supporting him from behind and turning him around. He cracked open one eyelid to confirm his impressions. Oh, it _was_ the Captain, stripped naked, holding him in a strong embrace and encouraging him to cuddle into his broad chest. That was unexpected. So it must be Lt. Wright adjusting the shower and washing his back.

John relaxed into the warm water and let four strong hands wash him all over. The Captain held him and turned him as required, and kept the water from running into his face when they washed his hair. Lt. Wright had also peeled out of his uniform and joined them under the spray in order to wash John very carefully and in almost embarrassing detail. They washed his back including paying careful attention to the slightly puffy skin around his entrance, then turned him around and washed all down his front as well.

When they were finished the Captain handed him out to the Lieutenant and they dried him off and the Captain picked him up again and carried him back into the main room of the First Aid station. While they were showering someone had laid out a double bedroll on the floor between the examination couches. John slid down into it with the Captain and the Lieutenant on either side of him. He had never felt so clean, so warm and so cared-for. He snuggled into the Captain’s side and drifted off to sleep.

* * *

 John woke to hear quiet voices murmuring across him. He listened intermittently but could not bring himself to concentrate enough to follow the details of the conversation. The Captain and the Lieutenant appeared to be discussing logistics for the next set of exercises they were planning for the unit. As soon as the Captain became aware John was conscious he broke off the impromptu planning session.

“John? Are you awake?” he asked. “I don’t want to rush you at all if you are tired, but I’m going to have to head off to the Colonel’s office for a briefing in about half an hour. I’ll call in Jack and Ben so you won’t be alone, as I’m afraid I’m going to need to take Matthew with me, but I was rather hoping you might feel up to some kisses before I leave.”

“Leave?” whined John, forcing himself further awake. “For how long?” He didn’t give the Captain time to answer, instead peppering his jaw and mouth with anxious kisses.

He felt more than heard the rumbling laugh of the Lieutenant against his back. “I’m sure after the briefing we can come straight back. Considering it is your first heat with us, after all.”

“My first heat?” John mumbled in confusion. “No, it isn’t. I’ve been with your unit for… um… nearly six months I think. I’ve had four heats in that time, this is my fifth.”

The Captain tilted up John’s chin and kissed him deeply before answering, “But this is your first heat _with_ us, as opposed to in your own quarters. Not all Omegas like to spend their heats _with_ their Alpha units and if you had never chosen to do this I never would have asked it of you. If you choose not to do this again that is completely your prerogative. But I ask you to consider very seriously two things, John.” He stared down into John’s face.

“What things?” John asked.

“Firstly, that you were right to be concerned about jealousy in the unit. I’m glad you brought it up, as it is a very real potential issue. There are only three solutions to this problem. You can spend your heats alone in your own quarters as you have been doing. Or you could bond with one Alpha of the unit either permanently or temporarily and spend your heats with only him. Or you can spend your heats like this, with all of us. What will _not_ work is to take two or three lovers from the unit and leave the rest out, or conversely to exclude a few people. We are a unit, and you need to take us as you find us or not at all.”

John nodded as he took in all of this.

“All right then, the second thing is to consider the benefits of this arrangement. If you choose to do it this way, as the Omega of our unit you could become a powerful healing and balancing force for us. This will make both your work and mine a lot easier. An Alpha unit with an Omega as its centre is stronger, more focused and calmer. As you already know, a large group of Alphas develop certain competitive streaks and have excess aggression which always needs to be channelled in productive ways. Having an Omega as part of the team is a stabilizing force and a calm centre which unites the Alphas and encourages us to work together and to compete for your favour, instead of working against each other in pointless displays of aggression.”

John felt the Lieutenant huff a laugh against his back. “Amen to that,” he added.

The Captain leaned in and kissed him quickly. “I have to go soon, but you don’t need to decide straight away. Think about it. Take this heat to experience what it would mean for you to be the centre of the unit and decide before your next heat. Not all Omegas like or can handle the attention of an entire unit of Alphas. I think you can, which is why I requested your assignment to us, but if you find it too overwhelming no-one will push you. You’re a great medic and an asset to the unit however you choose to spend your heats.” The Captain sighed and slid up to sit on the edge of the bedroll for a moment before climbing to his feet. “Come on Matt, you’re on duty. You can’t spend all day lying around in bed with John.”

“Oh, please sir, you don’t need me to take notes at the meeting. You and I both know everything that’s going to be said tonight anyway.” Lt. Wright said, without moving from his horizontal position.

The Captain rolled his eyes and laughed. “Lazy sod! Get up and do some work! John will still be here and still be in heat when we get back. I’ll call Ben and Tony down to keep John company if you change the sign on the door.”

“Not Tony, sir, he’s still hung over from being on leave yesterday. Better give him a few more hours off, he can take a turn with John tomorrow. Ben and Jack are both off duty today, and from memory Daniel and Nick should be off tomorrow night. I’ll double check the roster and get back to you on that. Bill is still here too, don’t forget.”

“Yes,” the Captain smiled wryly, “but I think John’s already worn out poor Bill. He was point man for this mission and John was taking no prisoners.” They all looked over at the examination couch where Bill was snoring lightly.

The Lieutenant started to untangle himself from John’s arms preparatory to leaving when both of them were taken by surprise by John’s desperate whimper. John had not himself realized how much he wanted someone with him now that he was in full heat. He had not mated with an actual person for several months, and now the floodgates were open and he wanted lots of skin to skin contact and he wanted it right now, dammit!

The Lieutenant settled back into the bedroll allowing John to claim his mouth and to cling to his chest. He looked up at the Captain with a smirk. “I think he needs me more right now than you do, sir. I suggest you send Ben down here and take Jack with you to the briefing in my stead. I’ll still type up the notes afterwards, of course.

The Captain threw up his hands with a laugh. “All right! I see you are determined to make yourself indispensable to John, so just do your best to please him so much he decides to do this again. I’ll send Ben around, and see you in my office tomorrow morning.” The Captain waved on his way out the door.

John wrapped his arms around the Lieutenant’s neck. “So, are you staying with me?” he asked, hardly able to believe it.

“Please, we’re off duty. Call me Matt, and yes, I’m staying. What were we up to?” he kissed John, sliding his hands down John’s back and pulling him close.

“Matthew… Matt…” murmured John, getting used to the Lieutenant’s first name. As a senior officer to John he had never been allowed to use it before, though of course he knew what it was. A strange thought crossed his mind. If they mated, would he call the Captain by his first name as well? He knew it was Peter, he had seen it on various pieces of paperwork, but he couldn’t imagine saying it.

“John, John!” laughed Matt quietly.

John blushed. “It just seems a bit strange, you know, us being together. I mean, _together_ together.” John blushed again at expression. “Aren’t there rules about this kind of thing within a command chain?”

The Lieutenant pulled back slightly in order to face John seriously. “Strictly speaking, you are outside the chain of command anyway. As a doctor with the RAMC you are only a ‘loaner’ to our unit and can’t command the troops, so none of them are part of your chain of command. Although you are responsible to me and the Captain, your own chain of command is your Captain and Major in the RAMC, not the Marines. So no, we aren’t violating any regulations.” He shrugged slightly. “I suppose technically the Captain and I shouldn’t fuck either each other or any of the lower ranks, but as we all plan to fuck _you_ through the mattress I don’t think we’ll have much energy to spare anyway!”

He paused for a moment, thoughtfully. “Captains of Special Forces Units are given a lot of leeway in how they organize their units. Not all of them would go for this arrangement, it’s true. But Captain Spiers makes it work, and he has a knack for requesting personnel whose psych profiles will suit this setting. He requested _you_ , and look how well this is working out!” He winked at John and pulled him in for another leisurely kiss.

As they were slowly exploring one another’s mouths, John felt someone else slide into the bedroll behind him, already naked and hard. He felt Matt look over his shoulder briefly.

“Ah, good, Ben. Did you change the sign on the door on your way in?”

“Yep. All right and tight. Had me some Ruby Murray too, so I’m ready to hit the frog.”

John turned around to look at Ben after this incomprehensible announcement.

Matt laughed. “Ben here is rhyming slang specialist. Didn’t you know?”

John shook his head mutely.

Ben smirked. “Ruby Murray? What rhymes with that?”

“Um, don’t know?” ventured John.

Matt rolled his eyes. “Curry. But he’ll never get the frog one, you’ll have to tell him.”

Ben smiled suggestively. “Oh, no. If he can’t guess he’ll have to suck it out of me…” He winked.

John felt his cock twitch with interest. It had been long enough since his encounter with Bill that he was starting to feel the need to be knotted again, but if an Alpha was willing to offer him something nice to suck on he wouldn’t say no. Matt started to kiss him with more heat and he felt himself responding, until they were rubbing their erections together. Ben was running his hands down John’s flanks as he kissed John’s shoulders and neck from behind.

“Mmmm…” Ben was murmuring. “It’s been too long since we had a willing Omega around on a regular basis.”

Matt sighed his agreement. “So Ben, did you want top or tail?”

“I’ll have the top end, if that’s all right with both of you.” Ben answered.

“Sounds good to me,” Matt replied. “I want to knot John so hard he forgets any other Alphas he’s ever had.”

John just panted with eagerness. Were they talking about what he thought they were? He started imagining two Alpha cocks in him at once and could feel himself getting wet between the legs at the idea.

“He likes the sounds of that!” Ben laughed. “Getting a bit moist over here!” He slid out of the bedroll and opened it up further, creating a padded nest for them. He then urged John up onto his hands and knees and looked at him for a moment. “You know what, Matt? I think he’s going to be too low down for us to do him properly like this. I think we need to get him on the couch.”

“Good idea.” The Lieutenant encouraged John to crawl up his body until he was standing again. John was a bit unsteady on his feet with dizzying lust. All he wanted was to lie down and have a loving Alpha cover and fill him completely. “Soon, love. Just climb up here and kneel again.”

The adjustable height of the examination couch suddenly seemed like a brilliant idea. Ben must have lowered it slightly, as it was now a comfortable height for John to crawl onto. Ben was waiting on the other side, and as John crawled fully onto the bed he realized that his head was just at the right level for something else. He opened his mouth eagerly and Ben slid half of his cock straight into John mouth with a twitch of his hips. The height was perfect for both of them. Ben didn’t need to bend at all and John’s neck was at a comfortable angle.

Ben started to thrust shallowly into John’s mouth, not going too deep to start with, allowing John to move back and forth to adjust how much cock he could manage. After a few tries they settled on about two-thirds of Ben’s length being the ideal mouthful for John. Just as they were finding a comfortable rhythm, John felt something sliding into him from behind. It was small and warm, not another Alpha cock. Oh, it must be the Lieutenant’s finger checking that he was still open and wet enough. John’s mouth was too full to talk or he would have told the Lieutenant that lack of lubrication was never a problem for him. It was sometimes a bit embarrassing how wet he got when he was in heat and excited.

“Oh, John, you are still so wet and ready.” Matt said. “You could probably just take my cock right now without a flinch couldn’t you, my lovely?”

John hummed his agreement, and Ben groaned with the delicious vibrations from John’s throat. He thrust his hips a bit harder into John’s mouth, just as Matt entered John from behind. Matt slid straight in to the hilt and hissed with the sensation of the tight, wet heat of John’s body. Matt gripped John’s hips tightly and timed his thrusts to match Ben’s. John groaned this time as he was penetrated deeply at both ends. Ben and Matt both pulled back and then slammed into him simultaneously and John thought would come right then from the overload of sensation.

John tried to use his tongue on Ben, but he had no concentration to spare for technique. Matt was setting a driving pace, pounding into him from behind and every thrust was touching his sweet spot deep inside. Ben was matching his pace from the front, although still being careful not to go too deep in case John gagged. John was pinned between them, writhing in ecstasy. Two Alphas were making love to him at the same time, and he could tell from the rising urgency of their thrusts that both were enjoying his body to the full.

Matt gasped out something from behind him, and it took John a moment to process the words for meaning. “Do you want me to bring you off with my hand?”

But the question was redundant, as John was already whining in the back of his throat with his impending climax. Ben beat him to it, the noises of an excited John tipping him over the edge and he spilled into John’s mouth in quick pulses of warm, salty seed. He slipped out of John’ mouth, freeing John to shout wordlessly as the orgasm shuddered through his body. As his internal walls clamped down on Matt, he also groaned and came, filling John with warmth and heat.

John almost collapsed on the spot, but he felt Matt’s hands under his belly and Ben’s on his shoulders guiding and supporting him back down to the bedroll. It was a little awkward with John and Matt knotted together, but finally they made it to the floor with John on his side and Matt curled protectively around him from behind.

Just before he fell asleep, John thought he heard voices, and a few other unit members seemed to be moving around the room. Usually this would have him jumping up to see what medical services were needed, but just now he was far too tired and happy to move…


	3. Chapter 3

After the third and fourth times, John lost track of how much pleasure he was experiencing and just revelled in all the attention. He had never felt so valued, so cared-for and loved. For the first time in his life he regretted coming to the end of his heat. Usually the end of a heat was a time of relief and exhaustion, but thanks to an entire unit of Alphas taking turns with him and caring for him between enthusiastic rounds of sex, he had come to the end of the four days without feeling headachy, dehydrated or intolerably sore.

He reflected with satisfaction on a particular overheard conversation between the Captain and Bill which had taken place about half-way through his heat. He had been drowsing after a lovely foursome of hands and mouths all over him which had ended by the Captain himself knotting John for most of the night. Bill had come around in the morning and wanted to wake John for another turn and been subjected to what amounted to a lecture on the care and feeding of Omegas in heat. Some particularly choice phrases drifted through his mind.

“…the Omega is the emotional and hormonal anchor of the unit, but he will exhaust himself trying to care for everyone if we let him. His heats are the time for us, the Alphas of his unit, to show him that we can care and provide for him, not only physically but that we can fill his emotional tank too…”

“…medical Omegas in particular tend to put their own needs last, and in a heat this can be dangerous for them. We need to protect John from his own desire to please us all. If we get the balance wrong he will feel overwhelmed by our desires – after all, there are twelve of us and only one of him. But if we treat him right he will feel more desirable and satisfied than he ever has before…”

“…he might not even remember to drink water or feed himself unless we remind him. It is our job to make sure he takes care of himself, to clean him and make sure he is well lubricated and doesn’t hurt himself…”

As soon as he stirred and the Captain realized he was awake, the conversation had ended and the demonstration started. Bill and the Captain had walked him to the shower and together had washed and checked him all over. His initial embarrassment at this intimacy had faded in the practical acknowledgement of its necessity. Twelve Alphas going at him day and night and knotting him every few hours was amazing and intense, but it also meant that he was at high risk for an anal tear or similar tissue damage. The Alphas in question were all physically fit and enthusiastic about pleasing him. John had never been so athletically and pleasurably exhausted.

After the shower Bill had made coffee and a hearty breakfast, and all three of them had eaten together. John had tentatively asked if the Captain needed to get back to the office, and surely he had more important things to do than sit in the sick bay eating toast and omelette with John and Bill? The Captain had laughed and tousled his hair and said that nothing in his day was more important than making sure John was eating and happy. John still felt warm inside at the memory.

After they had eaten, the Captain had gone to a planning meeting with the head of another Special Forces Unit. As soon as he was out the door Bill had nailed John hard into the mattress, then let him nap while Bill did the washing up. John felt hot inside at that memory and quite a few others.

The whole unit had passed through his bed at some stage in the four days, mostly in pairs. This unit was organized into six gunners of various types, each with his own wing-man. They worked together, trained together and apparently they took John to bed together. It wasn’t clear to John if this was habit, for the convenience of their roster or camaraderie. Probably a combination of all three.

John was starting to worry about what it mean when his heat ended and he went back to being ‘just’ the unit medic. It was heady and exciting and slightly intoxicating being the centre of attention of twelve loving Alphas at once. They made love to him, cuddled him, washed him, fed him, talked to him and laughed with him. They indulged in the usual competitive Alpha stuff around him but it was all in good fun. The dirty joke competition had been a particular highlight. Ben had won it, narrowly beating out Tony on points for the right to knot John next. John still thought Tony’s grasp of regional accents was incredible, and what Tony had done to John with his mouth afterwards was also incredibly hot.

John was getting to know them all in new ways. Ben was the class clown, Daniel the musician. Nick was the quietest of the group but had the largest cock and knew how to use it to make John scream. It was always the quiet ones that John had learned to watch out for. The Captain was the most thoughtful and considerate lover John had ever had, always making sure John was enjoying everything they did together. Matt had a very droll sense of humour which John felt that he only understood half the time but when he did it completely cracked him up. Osman and Prajeet made him some amazing spiced pancakes on the third morning of his heat, and their bodies also tasted slightly exotic. When either of them came across his tongue he couldn’t get enough of it.

He loved them all, individually and collectively. However, now the honeymoon was coming to an end. By the afternoon of the fourth day John was starting to come down from his hormonal high, and by the evening it was obvious to all of them. The Captain quietly suggested to John that if he felt up to getting dressed, they could have a unit dinner together in the mess hall.

It had been a wonderful evening. The Captain had ordered a few bottles of wine and it had the feeling of a celebration. But it also felt like the end of a glorious summer and as he walked back to his own quarters John felt a little lonely and anxious. What was going to happen now? He wouldn’t be expected to continue to offer sexual services to the whole unit indefinitely, would he? The Captain’s ‘all or none’ rule couldn’t possibly apply all the time, could it?

The Lieutenant, John supposed he could no longer call him ‘Matt’, walked John back to the First Aid station. For the first time John noticed the sign on the door. The ‘no service’ sign he had put on the door that first day, which seemed so long ago now, had been altered with a black Biro. Someone had crossed out the ‘no’ and written underneath in large enthusiastic letters ‘John’. He blushed to think of that sign hanging on the door for four days.

“Better collect your personal items and take them back to your quarters. Tomorrow everything will get back to normal, and I know the Captain has a doozy of a training exercise set up to start at stupid o’clock. I fully expect at least one injury before 0800 so you’ll need to get the sick bay fully set up.” He slapped John on the shoulder fondly. “I quite liked using the sick bay for a change instead of the usual heat tent. That first aid shower is much more convenient for three people. I think I’ll suggest making it a permanent change.”

“Oh really?” said John. “I thought it was just a co-incidence that it started there and we all just stayed there.”

“Well, sort of. There’s a special heat tent which can be set up if we need it. You don’t want to be trying to entertain the whole unit in your own quarters for lots of reasons. Firstly, it is just too small. Secondly, it is much nicer to have access to cooking facilities rather than running back and forth to the mess hall. Finally, it is good for you to have some separation between what you do for us as the Unit Omega and what you choose to do in the privacy of your own quarters. You need your own space where you can be alone or where you can have visitors on your own terms. Speaking of which, here we are.”

The Lieutenant nodded at the door, and John realized that they had arrived back at his quarters. His feet must have carried him the short distance from the First Aid station without his noticing. The Lieutenant gave him a vague half-wave, half-salute and wandered off. John went into his room and closed the door, alone for the first time since the start of his heat. His room was quiet, but he realized that the Lieutenant had been right. He did need his own space. He threw himself down on his own bed and stretched out luxuriously, enjoying having it all to himself. He set his alarm for the morning, wondering what time ‘stupid o’clock’ would be in military terms. He decided that 0600 would be early enough, and fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

# # # # # # # # # #

As it turned out ‘stupid o’clock’ was 0530 and the whole unit, including John, was woken by a loud-speaker call to assemble with full packs for a training drill. They all threw themselves into it eagerly and even John got to shoot something before the day was over. The injuries the Lieutenant had predicted were mostly minor; bruises, muscle strains and a bit of sunburn. John had to read the riot act to Jack about neglecting sunscreen, and he looked suitably abashed and swore to remember next time. John was pleased. He had been concerned that after four days of straight sex they might forget about his medical skills and refuse to take his advice, but so far this did not seem to be a problem.

Actually, in some ways his work seemed to be slightly easier for the new aspect to their relationships. Before, he had always felt a little bit of an outsider to the unit and slightly envious of their obvious ease with one another. Now he was fully included in everything, even held a rather favoured position. In the mess hall at the end of the day they all vied with each other to bring him what he liked best and to tell stories for him to admire. He seemed to be somehow important to them – something between a mascot (when he was being petted and offered tidbits) and a favourite teacher (when they were showing off their work or bringing him tea). They were eager for his praise and he respected and admired them all and had no hesitation in giving it. His replies to their tales of prowess and adventure were universally “Brilliant!” or “Amazing!” and the best part was that he was always sincere. The Alphas preened and strutted and strived even harder to impress him.

The Captain and the Lieutenant watched John settle in and the men of the unit adopt him into their hierarchy. The unit bonded around him and grew robust. The Lieutenant was happy to see it and the Captain thanked God and the personnel office for sending them John. They both knew the time was coming when those bonds would be tested.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for graphic combat scenes. War, killing and death. Hint: this is where John’s PTSD comes from. If you don’t want to read this chapter skip to the next one. I’ll put a summary of the main events at the start of it.

Soon after John’s initiation as the Unit Omega, Captain Spiers held a top secret briefing for their whole unit.

“As you all know, we have been working up and training for a very important mission. We have been assigned the assassination of an important terrorist who had been working behind the scenes in Afghanistan. Intelligence agents have been gathering information and they think they have pinpointed his hideout. Any day now I expect the civilian authorities to give the go-ahead and as soon as they do, we will launch. The whole mission will be carried out within a 12 hour time window. The gunners will carry long and short-range weapons, the wing-men and scouts will go in first, Bill and John last. There will be fighting in close quarters and there will be casualties.”

All the men nodded silently and grimly. These were the kinds of tasks Special Forces Units existed to perform.

“Everyone double check your packs and secure your supplies. All leave is cancelled, everyone is to remain on a one-hour recall. Sleep if you can. Once we launch we won’t stop until we achieve our objective and are back at base. Dismissed.”

The men broke up quietly and returned to their quarters with minimal conversation. No-one discussed the alternative to achieving the objective. They would succeed or die trying.

Everyone occupied himself with ritualistic tasks of preparation. Ben composed a long email to his parents. Tony and Nick field-stripped their weapons, cleaned everything and put them back together. It was almost meditative watching them work, the only sound between them the clicking of metal parts. John and Bill disassembled and restocked the portable first aid kits they would carry. On a mission like this they would each carry a full supply, though usually only John would have a complete kit.

John stripped, cleaned and reassembled his side-arm. He was not a Marine and was not expected to take down targets with his weapon, but he was trained and expected to defend himself and any wounded in his care. In fact, John quite enjoyed emptying a clip or two on the firing range. In the company of the Marines he found his accuracy increasing quite quickly, though he was not in their class when it came to speed especially when reloading. He also found that his accuracy decreased quite quickly when he was running, but standing still he was a crack shot. Surgery also requires good hand-eye co-ordination, steady hands and good focus so it was just a matter of putting those skills to a new application. The unit rivalry and good-natured competition did not hurt either.

John left the common room and wandered back to his own quarters. He did not have anyone to write emails to back at home. He seemed to have lost touch with most of his medical school friends. Most of them thought he was crazy to go into the army. After the first year of being posted overseas and away from Facebook and social media on the rare occasion when he logged in he found many of the conversations incomprehensible and the rest just silly.

He briefly considered writing an email to his sister or parents, but decided he did not have anything in particular to say. He had never been a fan of the “if I die” style of email writing. As a medic he was out of the direct line of fire most of the time and if a stray bullet took him down, well, they would get a letter from his Captain soon enough explaining the circumstances. He was not allowed to talk about the preparation for secret missions, and the mess hall food was not worth writing home about.

He decided to take the Captain’s advice and try to get some sleep. He put his pager on the desk beside his head, snuggled down in his bedroll and completely failed to go to sleep. He kept running through his mind a hundred varieties of what could happen on the mission. The only certainty was that the actual mission would be different again.

Sighing, he sat up and decided to compose an email to Harry after all. Even if it was only ‘hello, I’m still alive’ it was probably worth trying to make contact, even if she was too drunk to reply. He opened his laptop and brought up his email. He had got as far as “Hey, Harry,” when the pager went off.

His laptop crashed to the floor as he lunged to grab the pager and read the message. It was a simple directive to report to the vehicle bay. This was it. His first mission into enemy territory as a fully fledged medic with his Unit depending on him. He hoisted his pack onto his back. It seemed lighter than it had in training. Adrenaline was pumping through his body and he was ready to move out.

The Unit was gathering and being sorted into vehicles as he arrived. The Captain was part of the first six currently piling into the first armoured vehicle, the Lieutenant directed John to join the second six in another transport vehicle. “Get in and secure your pack,” he said shortly. “There will be a further briefing on the way.” John did not ask questions, just climbed in the back of the second transport. He was not quite last. Daniel jumped in practically on his heels, breathing hard. Jack shook his head at him and Daniel winced.

“Couldn’t find my lucky socks,” he muttered.

“Does it really matter?” Jack returned. “I’ll be your wing as usual, you’ve got your favourite rifle and our lucky Unit Omega is with us. What are socks compared with all that?”

“Not a good sign, going on a mission like this. First I can’t find my lucky socks, now we get a change of objective just as we set off. This is bad. I hope at least the intell is correct or we’re all up shit creek.” He frowned.

John was confused. “Isn’t it usual to get a briefing in the vehicles on the way?”

“Shit, no.” Daniel looked almost offended. “This is supposed to be a surgical operation; quick in to the objective and quick out. It should have been planned down to the last detail before we launched. There should be nothing to say except ‘you all know what to do’. Seriously, doc, would you embark on surgery, only to change your plans five minutes before you stick the knife in?”

“Well, no,” admitted John.

“This is exactly the same. A briefing on the way suggests something has changed, either in the plans or objective, or else in the intelligence information. Whatever it is, someone is changing plans on the fly rather than scrapping the mission and starting over with the new intell. Even worse, the time pressure means that the unit is being briefed in two halves rather than all together. It all smells like a botch-up waiting to happen. I don’t like it. I wish I was wearing my lucky socks.”

The Lieutenant jumped in opposite John and slammed the doors. At that signal the driver started the engine and they were off. The Lieutenant waved for their attention, and all the Alphas and John leaned in to listen.

“There is a slight change of plan,” he began. Daniel nudged John in the ribs, which he had no difficulty understanding. “The objective is no longer assassination. The civilian authorities have instructed us to try to capture the target.” The was a sharp hissing of inhaled breath from all the Alphas, and Jack gave a low whistle of dismay.

The Lieutenant frowned. “I remind you all that though a capture is more difficult than a simple assassination, High Command feels that the information from this terrorist cell is important to obtain. We are Bootnecks and proud of it, and we follow orders in the service of the Queen. By Sea, By Land.”

The rest of the unit except for John echoed the motto of the Royals, “By Sea, By Land.” The RAMC motto which John had always liked was “Faithful in Adversity”. He supposed that could equally apply to this situation.

“All right, gentlemen. Let’s get out the radio headsets and check communications one last time.”

# # # # # # # # # #

It was the middle of the night by the time they arrived and climbed stiffly out of the vehicles. They stretched with relief before shouldering their packs and gathering together beside the Captain, in the shelter of the first car. “This is the pickup point. We reassemble here after our objective is achieved. Mark it on your GPS and let’s move out. First six with me, second six with Lt. Wright. Radio silence from now until objective achieved. Good luck and good hunting.”

The Captain and Tony, his wingman, lead the group down the hill to the north. The Lieutenant and Nick waited fifteen minutes before heading off to the north-east. The first group had further to go and would need time to circle around toward the terrorist headquarters.

Afterwards, John could never recall much detail about the journey towards their objective. It seemed like short bursts of running and hiding, followed by long waits that caused his body to cool and stiffen, just in time for another run which made him sweat again. He guessed it was about three hours of running and hiding but it was impossible to gauge the distance covered in that time.

Just before they entered the terrorist headquarters the group gathered together. There was no time or necessity for speech. They assembled in order and the Lieutenant nodded for the first man to go in. Jack was the point man for this mission, with Daniel close behind him. On the signal to move, Jack launched himself at the door and smashed it in with his shoulder, instantly diving and rolling to his right. Daniel went through directly behind him, diving and rolling left. Their gunfire rang out through the night, and the sound of return fire followed immediately.

Too immediately. This was supposed to be surprise attack in the middle of the night. How could the terrorists be already alert and armed? Unless they knew the Marines were coming…

John felt a chill down his spine in spite of the sweat gathering under his pack. He loosened his gun in its holster and rubbed his sweating hands down the side of his fatigues to improve his grip.

Then the radio in his earpiece crackled to life with Captain’s voice, “Change of ROE, target is now to be killed. Repeat, kill shot if possible, do not attempt capture.”

John bit his lip. What the hell was going on in there? He was under strict instructions not to enter the building until called but he hated waiting out here while his Unit, his mates, were under heavy fire.

The minutes crawled past. He could hear gunfire more intermittently now, and it seemed to be moving away from his position.

“Medic!” John jolted to his feet and looked around before realizing that the voice was coming from his headset. The voice was Nick, the Lieutenant’s wingman. There was slight panting through the earpiece, as if he was running. “I’m coming, hold your position.”

John held his breath and prayed that it was not the Lieutenant who needed his urgent attention. It seemed an eternity until Nick’s head popped around the doorframe, and waved John over. John ran to him and together they started back down the passage. Nick switched off his microphone and gestured to John to do likewise.

“It’s Daniel.” Nick said shortly. “Bill has a tourniquet around his leg but it’s going to be hard to evac him from here. We need you to rig some kind of walking splint. It’ll hurt like hell, but there’s no way we can carry him back to the pickup point.”

John nodded his understanding, too short of breath to waste any on useless speech. Nick slowed down as they penetrated deeper into the building, checking doorways and side passages.

They reached the central room of the headquarters building and the first thing that hit John as he entered was the smell. The harsh metallic tang of blood, and a lot of it. Overlying that was the stench of bowel contents and the acrid bite of gun smoke. People had died in this room, or rather, been killed. There were bodies lying where they had fallen, but John tried to avoid looking at them. None that he could see were wearing Marine uniforms, thank God.

Nick directed John immediately to where Daniel was lying on a table. Bill had already cut open the leg of his trousers and applied a tourniquet above the knee. The lower part of his leg from just below the knee was a mess with white bone poking out through the skin. Daniel appeared to be unconscious. His head was turned away and his eyes were closed.

“Report.” John said to Bill.

“Comminuted open tibial fracture, probable laceration of popliteal artery. Fifteen migs of IV morphine given so far, and another five of midazolam.”

“What? Midaz? Why?” John was shocked. It was not standard practice to sedate a patient in the field. Painkillers were necessary of course, but midazolam was a pure sedative.

“Jack was killed. Shot to the head.”

John inhaled sharply. The loss of his wingman, combined with his own injury had clearly caused Daniel to lose control and forced Bill to sedate him. John could not fault his reasoning, but they were all in a situation now which would make it hard to evacuate. He leaned over to look into the wound. The tourniquet was controlling the blood loss but there was bone open to the air. That needed to change, immediately.

“Bill, stabilize the knee. I’m going to sterilize the area and reduce the fracture. Then we bandage him as tight as possible and bug out. Who else can we recruit to help carry him?”

Bill shook his head. “The others are all still in pursuit. We only have a few minutes. The area isn’t secure.” He looked down at Daniel’s face for a moment. “At least he’s out of it. This is going to hurt like hell.”

John shrugged. They had no choice and no time. Once they withdrew to the base Daniel could go to surgery and be properly patched up. There were antibiotics for infection and therapists for the shock of losing his wing. But none of that would matter unless John could get him stabilized and they could get him out of here in one piece.

John tore open a packet of antiseptic liquid and poured it liberally over the wound, washing out the worst of the dirt. He poured a second packet more specifically over the end of the bone and around the surrounding skin.

“Nick! Give me a hand here.” Nick returned from prowling the perimeter of the room.

“Put your hands below mine, and when I say, pull hard and steady straight down on his ankle. Got it? We need the bone to be pulled out straight and splinted back in place or it will slice the artery when we move him and he’ll lose the leg.”

Nick was pale but resolute. “Whatever you say, doc, but make it quick.”

John placed Nick’s hands around Daniel’s ankle and checked that Bill had control of the knee. “Pull on ‘three’. One. Two. THREE!” John guided Nick to pull down directly in line with the leg as hard as he could, while Bill created counter-traction from above the fracture. Once the pressure of the contracting muscles was removed, John delicately manoeuvered the flesh and bone until… _click!_ The bone slid smoothly back into place. Daniel groaned, the pain of the movement penetrating even his drugged sleep. Nick grunted as the ankle moved under his hands.

“OK, that’s it. You can let go.” John said. “Bill get some sutures, a dressing and a pressure bandage while I set up for a splint.”

Just then the Captain’s voice came over all their headsets simultaneously. “Target down! Full retreat. Repeat, all retreat to the pickup point.”

Nick released Daniel’s ankle and switched his microphone back on. “Belay that. Casevac in progress. Closest pair form on my signal to help evac.”

The Captain responded immediately, “Osman and Prajeet, go to Nick. Matt, you too. Everyone else, bug out.”

Nick turned to John. “There’s no time to suture. Wrap and splint and we’ll have to take turns carrying him. We can’t be left behind when the others pull out, there’s no way we can secure this room. If he can’t walk anyway, sedate him. We can’t have him making noise and drawing attention.”

John did not waste time replying. He slapped a sticky dressing over the open wound and started wrapping as fast and tight as possible around the leg. The pressure bandage went from above the knee all the way down to the toes, to prevent bleeding or swelling. John thanked his earlier self for making absolutely sure all the bandages were stowed neatly, as that was now the only thing making the fast wrap possible. Once the bandage was secure, he grabbed the air splint and inflated it over the leg. “All secure Bill, release the tourniquet.”

Nick gave John a sharp look, but did not say anything. John answered it anyway. “We can’t keep checking his circulation while we run. If we leave the tourniquet on too long the tissues may die from lack of oxygen. If we release it, he may lose some blood but the fracture is reduced and the pressure bandage will help too. If it looks bad later I’ll reapply the tourniquet. For now, let’s go!”

Nick nodded once. “Bill, you take Dan first, I’ll take point. We can switch once we get outside the building. Abandon the packs and everything except urgent medical supplies and ammo.”

John was unhappy that they obviously thought he could not help in carrying Daniel. Then he reconsidered their relative heights and decided to shut his mouth. He took out all the painkillers and sedatives and an extra bandage from the main medical kit and stuffed it into the small portable. He buckled it around his waist and jogged after Nick out of the room.

The withdrawal was a nightmare of stumbling over broken ground and trying to find cover. Osman, Prajeet and Lt. Wright caught up with them once they were outside the building. Nick was clearly relieved to have his opposite number back and even more so to hand over command of the team. They ran when they could, walked and scrambled when they had to, but even with five of them to share the load Daniel was a heavy burden and the pickup point too far away.

An hour into their journey, Daniel started to wake up as the sedatives wore off. He started to kick and thrash out of Osman’s grasp. “Jack! Who’s got Jack?” He was looking around wildly. “Jack was hurt! We have to go back for him!”

Osman eased Daniel down as his wild kicking threatened to drop them both to the ground. Nick nodded at John to break the bad news.

“Daniel, listen to me. Jack was shot in the head. I’m sorry, there was nothing anyone could do.”

Daniel’s eyes widened in shock. He shook his head stubbornly. “No! You can help him! You’re our medic and our Omega, he’ll hold on for you. I know he will. Come back with me, together we can get him home.”

John shook his head slowly and gripped Daniel’s arm. “I’m sorry, there is nothing we could have done. Now we need to get you out. You won’t be able to walk, but if you can hold on Osman can piggy-back you more easily than carry you.”

Daniel folded his arms across his chest. “No, I’m not leaving him! Matt! What kind of Lieutenant leaves one of his men in the field?” He almost spat the accusation.

Nick got right in front of Daniel, in his face, until they were chest to chest. “What do you think I have here?” he asked, waving a closed fist under Daniel’s nose. “It’s his dog tags, taken from his cold body. I’m sorry, but you have to realize Jack is gone. If you don’t cooperate you could endanger all our lives, including John’s.” He dropped his voice to a low, intimate almost-whisper. “You want to protect John, don’t you?”

John felt the Lieutenant’s hand on his back, urging him forward. He stumbled and nearly fell against Daniel, whose arms opened involuntarily to catch and steady him. John knew this was the time to play every card he had. He leaned into Daniel and wrapped his arms around Daniel’s neck. He tucked his head under Daniel’s chin for good measure. He knew he had been sweating and his hair would hold the pheromones more strongly than his skin.

“Daniel, you want to get me back to base, don’t you? You want me to be safe, don’t you? Protect me, Daniel. Help me. When we get home we can be together, Daniel. I’m John, your Omega. Your John. Do it for me, Daniel.” He rubbed his head along Daniel’s jaw, spreading the scent of stressed Omega. He leaned up and kissed Daniel lightly and felt the Marine’s arms tighten around him. It was working, so he decided it was time to work it a little more. “Let’s go Daniel. It isn’t safe for me here. Prajeet will help you. Let’s go home.”

John kept a hand on Daniel’s arm as he climbed onto Prajeet’s back and the group was moving again. Nick nodded at him, and he felt the Lieutenant clap him approvingly on the back as he jogged past.

They staggered the rest of the way back to the pickup point without further incident. The armoured vehicle was waiting for them, the first six having already gone in the other transport. They climbed in the back and the Lieutenant slammed the door. It was a silent trip back to base, all of them avoiding looking at the empty space at Daniel’s side. John checked the bandages for bleeding every twenty minutes without commenting on the silent tears flowing down Daniel’s face.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who didn’t read the last chapter due to violent content, Jack was killed and his wing-man Daniel was injured. They managed to evacuate Daniel despite his broken leg and panic attack because John used his Omega pheromones to stimulate Daniel’s protective instincts. We resume the story as the broken and damaged Unit returns to base…

The second armoured transport rolled into the vehicle bay and even before the engine stopped the Captain was opening the back door and assessing the condition of the second half of his team. His eyes went first to Daniel, then John, then flicked over the rest of the unit.

“Well done boys, objective achieved. Matt, report to my office. John, report to the surgical suite. Daniel, stand by for a wheelchair transfer. The rest of you; fall out and return to quarters.” He slapped each man on the shoulder as they wearily climbed down out of the vehicle.

“John, the orthopaedic surgeon is standing by, as you requested. He will assess Daniel and take him straight to theatre. You’ve done well today and if you would prefer to rest you’ve certainly earned it. If you want to go to theatre and assist the surgeon, I’m sure he would welcome your insights.” The Captain nodded to John, and took the Lieutenant by the elbow. “Come on down, Matt. We have a helluva mess to sort out in the final report…” They walked briskly out of earshot.

An orderly appeared with a wheelchair for Daniel, and John followed them to the surgical suite. The base did not have surgical specialists on site, but had arrangements with the local hospitals for visiting specialists to come across when needed. John realized with a slight shock that it was 0830, and the morning was just getting started for most people. The mission had taken all night, yet in less than twelve hours everything had changed. _He_ was changed, he was baptized by fire, he was… tired.

Daniel was wheeled off to x-ray and John dithered as to what he should do next. He had been up all night and was completely burned out of adrenaline. He wanted to see what happened next with Daniel. He wanted to know if he had done everything as well as possible under the circumstances. He wanted to go to bed, and he was so tired he knew he was barely capable of making decisions. Like whether to go to bed or not.

One of the theatre nurses saw him hovering and took pity on his exhausted state. “He will be in x-ray at least half an hour, and they can’t start in theatre three until after 0930. If you want to have a shower and a kip, I can page you when Daniel is under and they are ready to go.”

“I’d like that, yeah, thanks very much.” John mumbled and staggered off towards the showers.

# # # # # # # # # #

John was woken from deep sleep by his pager. He snatched it up and read the message. _Daniel going under, Theatre 3._ The nurse’s estimate had been pretty close. It was now 0945 according to his pager.

He rolled out of bed and stretched out his back. He had not had enough sleep, but he wanted to be there when they operated on Daniel. He did not have much in the way of information to offer, but he was interested in how the orthopod would approach the comminuted fracture. Most importantly, he wanted to know if Daniel would retain full function of the leg. An injury like this could retire him from the Royals if not able to be repaired completely.

John had a few minutes yet. He contemplated another shower to wake himself up but decided to go for food instead. Once he was ensconced in the operating theatre he might be there for hours. He ran across to the mess hall and was lucky enough to find them still clearing away some of the last remains of breakfast. He helped himself to an egg and bacon sandwich.

He was severely tempted by the coffee pot but restricted himself to a half cup only. Who knew when he might get the chance to take a leak once the operating started. Still chewing, he entered the theatre change rooms and with the familiarity of long practice shed all his clothes into a neat pile and pulled on theatre greens. They were too large for him, as usual, and he made a mental note to ask someone to restock the size smalls from the nursing supply.

He scrubbed his hands and presented himself to Theatre 3 just as the orthopod was finishing the prep and drape and starting to explore the wound. He looked up as John took up the position of assistant directly opposite.

“Ah, you must be Dr. John Watson. You can call me Dr. Aasif. I heard you were there when this rather nasty wound was received?” He raised one eyebrow.

John blinked at the Afghan surgeon’s excellent command of colloquial English, then registered the slight South African accent. Must have trained in South Africa. He forced his wandering mind back to the point.

“Yes, I was, or rather, I arrived soon after. I’m the field medic, so I did the wound washout and reduction of the fracture. I’m afraid I can’t tell you much about how he received the original injury though.”

Dr. Aasif hummed under his breath as he explored the wound with his fingers. He had already poured saline over most of it to wash out the contaminants and was extending the access with a scalpel. Daniel’s x-rays were mounted on the light box behind him, and over his shoulder John could see for the first time the number of small pieces of bone involved. This was going to be a difficult repair.

“Dr. Aasif,” John asked tentatively, almost afraid to hear the answer. “Do you think he will regain complete use of the leg?”

“Oh yes, if he does his physiotherapy afterwards. He will probably have some pain on exertion for the rest of his life, but I expect full function and no loss of leg length. It will be up to him to decide how much the pain is a problem for him. He could retire to a less active position if he wants to, but being a Royal Marine Commando I expect that is unlikely?” He looked at John for confirmation.

“I don’t know.” John returned slowly. “He lost his partner in this mission. I’m not sure how much that will affect him.” John shook his head. “It’s too early to tell. As you say, a Royal doesn’t chuck in the towel easily. I’m glad you think he will be able to continue his career, if he wants to.”

The rest of the operation went well, if slowly. It was a tedious process aligning and fixing all the pieces of bone in place. Daniel would be full of plates and screws when it was over, but he would have his leg and the full range of motion. The orthopod grumbled a bit about the amount of dirt contaminating the wound and the length of time between the injury and surgery, but John tried not to take it personally. The nature of the field repairs and evacuation circumstances made it inevitable.

John estimated they were about half an hour away from the end of the five-hour operation when Dr. Aasif finally stepped back from the operating table and stretched out his back. “Well, nearly done now. I’ll just lace up the leg and he can go to recovery.” He turned to the anaesthetist, who was playing Sudoku on his iPad. “You can start reversing him in about ten minutes.” The gas man just grunted an acknowledgement without looking up.

“What?” gasped John. “Aren’t you going to close the skin?”

Dr. Aasif stared at him in return. “Goodness, no! A contaminated wound, extensive trauma, plates _in situ_? All this needs to drain or he’ll get compartment syndrome for sure.”

“Oh, yes. Of course.” John mumbled, rather ashamed of himself. “I must be overtired.”

“I’ll just lace the wound together without closing completely, leave it to drain and he can be skin grafted in a week or so. I’ll come by to check on him every day.”

They finished the rest of the operation and took down the drapes in silence. John was too tired for conversation. His body was finally running out of adrenaline and its substitute; caffeine. Just before he staggered out of the theatre suite he sent the same message to both the Captain and the Lieutenant. _Daniel in recovery. Operation successful. Eight weeks of rest and PT, expect return to full function._

# # # # # # # # # #

When John woke it was dark. He did not remember walking back to his quarters or falling asleep still in his theatre greens, which his current situation suggested he must have done. He wandered back to the theatre change rooms to dump his greens in the laundry and retrieve his clothes, then went to the mess hall in search of whatever meal was being served.

He had long missed dinner, which he did not regret at all. He did not think he could face a crowd at the moment. He took a plate and filled it quickly with cold meat and salad, snagged a roll and escaped back to his first aid station. Somehow, he was more at home here than in his bare quarters. As he ate he disassembled and repacked the portable first aid kit. The larger medical pack had been abandoned in the retreat, so with a sigh John sat down to start the paperwork to requisition a new one. He was only half way through the application form when his pager buzzed with a new message. _Team debriefing tomorrow 1030. Waterloo ward, room 4. BYO chair._

John stared at the message for a moment before realizing what it meant. Daniel would still be in traction so the debriefing was being held at his bedside to allow him to participate. This had the Captain’s fingerprints all over it, and John felt his eyes filling with tears as he contemplated what would probably be discussed tomorrow. He filed the remainder of the paperwork on his desk for another day and returned to bed.

# # # # # # # # # #

John planned to arrive in Daniel’s room a good quarter hour before the briefing was due to start, to check on his wound (and mental state) before the others arrived. He was surprised to see the Captain hovering just outside Daniel’s door.

“Ah, John. Good, I was hoping you would come across a bit early,” he said. “Walk with me a moment?”

Of course John agreed and they wandered up the corridor, out of earshot of Daniel and the nursing station.

“Have you been to many mission debriefs before, John?” the Captain asked.

“A few, of course. Plus a few with actors when in training.” John replied.

“Good, good. This one will be a difficult session. There will be anger, grief and guilt.” The Captain raised a finger to forestall John’s protest that there was no reason for guilt. “There _will_ be guilt, misplaced or otherwise. I wanted to remind you not to contradict anyone’s experience or try to tell them how to feel. The emotions need to be expressed.”

John nodded his understanding.

“Don’t be afraid of them – even in the midst of their anger and grief they won’t hurt you. They need you to help them process the emotions. Also remember that as the Unit Omega, what you say is particularly emotionally powerful. They will listen to you, follow your lead. You are a good doctor, John, a healer. Just do and say what comes naturally and I’m sure you’ll be fine.” The Captain gripped John’s shoulder reassuringly, and they returned to Daniel’s room.

John strolled into Daniel’s room, carefully putting on his ‘cheerful face’ first. Daniel was a little anxious but not in too much pain. John checked over Daniel’s charts and looked at the wound. He was pleased to see that it was healing cleanly, no signs of infection so far. He helped Daniel to sit up in bed as the other members of the unit filtered in and formed a circle with their chairs. It was a tight fit with the bed plus ten chairs in a single room. As the Lieutenant closed the door, John realized that he had forgotten to bring a chair for himself. He groaned inwardly and perched on the side of Daniel’s bed. This would be an uncomfortable position for a long session, but maybe he could ease himself to the floor later.

The Captain stood, and instantly had everyone’s attention. Unlike the others who were all in casual fatigues, he was wearing his dress uniform jacket and cap. “Thank you all for your attention. I have some explanations and apologies to give before we start the main part of the debrief.”

A murmur ran around the room at this unexpected beginning. John wondered what the Captain had to apologize for, or on whose behalf? Surely not Jack, but he was the only one missing.

‘The first thing to say, and what I want you all to keep in the front of your minds, is that our mission objective was achieved.” He nodded firmly and caught the eyes of everyone in the room. “The mission was a success, though we paid a high price for it.” He paused for a moment to let people digest that thought.

He resumed quietly, “There was a failure of intelligence for the mission. It is not clear to me whether it was intell lacking or a leak, but either way they knew we were coming. The HQ was much more heavily defended than we had been led to expect, and with much heavier weapons. This is why I changed the mission objective. It was on my own authority, but in the circumstances I could see that a capture would fail. Our only hope to make Jack’s death count was to achieve a kill. We did that, and I’m proud of each and every one of you for your courage under fire, your focus on doing your jobs and following orders even when those orders were changing. And be assured,” a steely glint came into the Captain’s eyes. “Be _very_ sure that I am _personally_ following up how such a failure of intell could have happened.”

This time the murmur that ran around the room had more than a hint of a growl in it. The Captain now slowly removed his jacket and hung it over the back of his chair, and took off his hat and placed it carefully on Daniel’s bedside table. Under his dress jacket he was wearing his oldest and slightly faded fatigues. With a deliberate change of posture he flopped down into his chair.

“So that’s it for the Captain. I’ll be Peter for the rest of this debrief and whatever we say here in this room stays in this room and completely off the record.” He sighed and ran his hands over his face. “Matt, I might ask you to start.”

The Lieutenant, or rather Matt, rose to his feet. “I’m tired and sore,” he said with a grimace. “That withdrawal was hellish and it felt endless and crazy. I’m sad that we lost Jack. I’m mad that this could be the fault of someone on our _own_ side. But most of all I’m proud that we did it, even though it was bloody hard going.” He sat down.

Daniel waved his hand to speak next and Matt nodded at him to go ahead. “How could this happen?” he asked with bewildered pain. “The orders were stupid. The intell was incomplete or leaked, and Jack paid the price of fuck-ups by the higher-ups! It isn’t _fair_!” Tears were running down his face, but it was unclear to John if they were tears of grief or frustrated anger, or both. “They tell me I’ll have pain from this injury for months, at least, but I can’t face the pain of having a new wing-man. I won’t have a newcomer replace Jack! I’ll retire first.”

Matt and Peter exchanged a glance, and Peter spoke quietly into the room. “We may have a solution for that. If another pair is willing to split, one of them could be your new wing and the other take the new member. I agree it is too much to expect you to induct someone new and heal from your injury at the same time, and we want you to stay with us. We won’t ask anyone to volunteer now, but I want all of you to think about it and discuss it in your pairs. It’s a big decision, but if you think you can do it come speak to me privately.”

Daniel was still too choked up with tears to reply, so he just nodded. John leaned across the bed and hugged him hard and let him cry into his shoulder. He lost track of who was talking for a few minutes, but when he looked up Nick had the floor. He had lost his usual quiet manner and was flushed and ranting with anger.

“…how could you do it, Matt? You left me behind! I’m supposed to be your wing-man and you made me stay behind and sent me to fetch the medic like some fucking _messenger boy_ while the mission was still incomplete!”

Matt spread his hands in appeal to Nick. “I am _so_ sorry it felt like I was leaving you behind. Bill was stabilizing Daniel, and I needed to put them in the care of someone who could fetch John, yes, but also someone who could oversee their safe withdrawal under fire. I was not sure I would be able to rejoin you, so I needed to put in charge someone I could trust completely. I knew Bill and John would be completely occupied with medical duties and would not secure their own safety, and might not be able to retreat alone.”

“Oh.” Nick’s anger seemed to be losing focus. Before it could find a new one, John stepped up to Nick and put his arms around his neck. “Thank you for getting me in time. We saved Daniel’s leg you know. Thank you for getting us all out of that trap, and guiding us out of the building.” He rubbed his cheek along Nick’s jaw and felt him relax a little.

Daniel added, “Thank you for remembering to bring Jack’s dog-tags. I know his mother will want them.” At those words Nick broke down completely and started crying into John’s neck. John guided him to sit down in his chair and ended up being pulled onto his lap. He sat with his arms around Nick as the next speaker took the floor to pour out his grief and anger.

One after another they all spoke of fear, pain, anger and dismay and as each one finished and broke down, John held him and reminded him of peace and safe returns, of his admiration and love.

By the end of the session all the Marines were calmer. Their sadness and loss still simmered below the surface, but the more volatile anger had been vented. They quietly picked up their chairs and returned to their quarters.

John sank to the floor, exhausted. Both shoulders of his shirt were soaked, his neck and lips had bites from some of the more intense moments of the debrief. Peter and Matt hauled him to his feet and steadied him. He leaned against Peter as Matt rubbed small circles on his back.

Peter spoke quietly in his ear, “You did so well, I knew you could do it. I’m so proud of your work today.” Matt murmured his agreement. “Let’s get you back to your quarters and some rest, unless you would prefer food?”

John shook his head. “I didn’t realize a debrief would be so tiring. I thought we would just talk a bit, but this felt like doing the mission all over again!”

Peter sighed. “This was a particularly difficult one. They won’t all be this hard on you. But you did fine work in there.” He chuckled lightly. “No one exploded and nothing got broken. That counts as a success!”

With Peter’s assistance John managed to get back to his own quarters, where he flopped down on the bed with a sigh.

Peter said, “I’ll leave you to get some rest.” But instead of leaving he pulled down the blind that shaded the window and checked John’s water jug by the bed. He returned to the side of the bed to look into John’s face.

“How are you feeling after all that? Do you want to rest alone, or would you like some company?” he asked delicately.

John sat up. “I… I think I need to debrief from the debrief!” he said, and burst into tears himself. Peter was instantly beside John on the bed, holding him tight and rocking him slightly as he vented his own stress. The storm was brief but intense and when it was over John lay limp in Peter’s arms.

“Better now?” Peter asked. “You did such amazing work, I’m not surprised you’re having a reaction afterwards. I don’t know how you do it, managing the emotions of so many Alphas at once. You always surprise and delight me.” He kissed John lightly and stood up.

“Don’t go.” said John suddenly. “This is my own room, and what goes on in here is private isn’t it? I’m not in heat, but I’d like you to stay. Please?”

“I’d like that, if you’re sure that’s what you want.” Peter replied.

“I’m sure,” said John, pulling Peter down onto the bed again and kissing him.

They took it slowly, and it was tender and sweet. Peter held John and stroked him all over until he was begging for release. Only then did Peter climb on top of John and take him and fill him, pressing himself slowly into John to touch the deep places inside that made him gasp. They were both panting as they neared their climax when Peter reached down between their bodies and grasped John’s cock, jerking him off in rhythm with the thrusts of his hips. John threw back his head and groaned as the pleasure thrilled through him in sharp spikes along every nerve. Hearing and feeling John’s excitement peak beneath him tipped Peter over the edge as well, and he came hard into John, filling him with warmth.

John’s pheromones when he was not in heat were not strong enough to induce Peter to form the knot, so they slid apart after only a few minutes. This time the sex had been not heat driven, but purely for their mutual comfort and pleasure. Peter rolled off John and reached over to the bedside table for some tissues to clean them both. When that was done, Peter lay down next to John and pulled him close with a sigh.

“Thank you, John, dear. I think you helped me as much then as you did during the debrief.”

John wrapped his arms around Peter’s waist. “Thank you, sir. I appreciate your time and attention.”

“Always. It’s no trouble, John. You take care of us and we take care of you.” Peter kissed the tip of John’s nose.

“I… I love you, sir.”

“And I love you too.” Peter glanced down at John’s flushed cheeks. “We all love you. The relationship between a Unit Omega and the Unit Alphas is a very intense one, but don’t go falling in love with me, John.” Peter sighed. “Or any of us. You won’t be here forever, I can tell.”

John’s mouth set in a stubborn line. “Yes I will. I’m as loyal as any Bootneck, you’ll see. I’ll wear a green lid for the rest of my life.”

“No you won’t John, or I hope you won’t.” Peter hugged him tightly. “It will be a privilege to work with you for as long as you want to stay, but you are too tender, too giving, too empathetic to do this forever. You’ll burn yourself out if you try. You will do this for a few years, three maybe, or even five. Then you will need to go find yourself an Alpha of your own to bond with and let him heal you.”

“Well then, let me bond with you, sir! I can stay and be the Unit Omega if I’m bonded to you!” John whined.

Peter hugged him again and then carefully released him. “You’re very sweet, but it wouldn’t be good for you. No. Be our Omega and love us for the time that you are here, then leave us with no regrets and no broken promises.” He stood up and dressed, then left John with a final kiss on the lips. “Rest now, love, and join us in the mess hall for dinner.” He closed the door quietly behind himself.

John stared at the closed door. “You’re wrong,” he said aloud. “I’ll stay for life, and I’ll show you.” With his life plan settled firmly in his mind, John rolled over and went back to sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

John’s next heat was three days late.

His 36-day cycle was a pain to track at the best of times, but he checked and double checked his calendar. He was definitely late. He told himself it was stress, or the strange shift hours and working through the night that was throwing his body clock off. It would correct itself in time. He just needed to give it time.

When his heat was five days late John finally cracked and went into the nearest town for a pregnancy test. He had a contraceptive implant which was only a year old and should have at least two more years to go. He could not be pregnant. Not even with twelve Alphas knotting him. Surely not.

He sat in the toilet stall first thing the next morning, as recommended on the packaging of the pregnancy test. He followed the instructions and carefully peed on the stick, then waited the required two minutes with a pounding heart. He stared at the second hand of his watch as it ticked around to the top, then flicked his eyes to the window at the top of the stick.

One line. Negative.

He blew out his held breath. He had known it was not likely. So now what, was he sick? Who should he ask about Omega hormonal variations? Bill was an army first aider not a doctor and an Alpha to boot, he probably would not be much help. He hesitated to call any of his superiors or RAMC doctors. He needed an endocrinologist, or at least someone with access to one.

He opened up his laptop and started searching online. Lots of rubbish theories about how to bring on heats, mostly by ridiculous physical manoeuvers or eating strange plants, and clearly directed at Omegas desperate to get pregnant. This was not helping.

He started looking through the sites for some more reliable medical information, and came across a link to the teaching hospital where he had trained before joining the army. He clicked on the staff list at St Bartholomew’s and started scanning for any names that he knew. Perhaps one of his old tutors might be prepared to act as a contact for him. He ran his eye down the list and saw name he recognized from his own year level in medical school. A certain Mike Stamford was on the teaching staff at St Bart’s. His specialty was not listed but he would definitely have access to the latest information. John clicked on his email address and started typing.

# # # # # # # # # #

Captain Spiers called John into his office later that day. “I notice you have not yet requested heat leave this month,” he said quietly.

John shuffled his feet and looked at the floor. “I know. I’m… running a bit late this month. Probably stress with Daniel and everything.”

The Captain looked concerned. “I hope you are well? If you need medical leave or anything else please let me know.”

“Oh, no, nothing like that.” John hastily reassured him. “I’m fine, probably just need to lay off the caffeine a bit and get to bed earlier. Nothing to worry about, really. Was that the only reason you wanted to see me, sir?”

“No, actually. I wanted to let you know that our new Unit member will be arriving tomorrow. It is quite fortunate you have not had your heat yet. It will help him integrate to the Unit to be part of your heat soon after he arrives.”

John felt his stomach drop. How could he be expected to allow a new Alpha access to his body on a  few days’ acquaintance? He could go into heat the very same day the new Alpha arrived! It was different with his Unit Alphas. He had known them all several months before spending his first heat with them.

“Would it be all right if I sat this one out, sir? Passed it on my own in my quarters like I used to do? I’m not sure I’m ready for a new Alpha to… to be with me in that way, sir.” John blushed. It was one thing to spend a heat with Peter. It was something quite different to be talking about his sex life with his Captain.

“Of course, it is totally up to you to decide. I can’t and won’t order you to do anything that makes you uncomfortable.” The Captain frowned slightly. “But do you realize how important, how central you are to our unit, John? Your inclusion of the new Marine could really help him integrate and be accepted by all the others. I realize it may be awkward for you, but consider how difficult it is going to be for Daniel.”

John dropped his eyes to the floor. Of course it would be far harder for Daniel to accept a new team member to replace Jack. And yet, it was _John’s_ body the new Marine would be handling, stroking, penetrating…

“I’ll think about it, sir,” he finally answered. “My heat hasn’t started yet, so it will depend a bit on how soon after his arrival it starts. I remember your instructions though, sir. All or none. If I can’t accept him yet, I’ll spend the heat alone in my quarters.”

The Captain nodded slowly. “Thank you, John. I appreciate your giving some thought to the matter. I’ll be introducing the new Marine at a unit meeting after breakfast tomorrow. Dismissed.”

John wandered back to his office and checked his email again. There was an email from Mike already! He opened it with excitement, but was disappointed to see that it was simply an automated acknowledgement of receipt of his email promising that Mike would get back to him once he was in the office. Apparently Mike only worked part time at the hospital, as his main appointment was with the university. John sighed. There was nothing to do but wait.

# # # # # # # # # #

At the next morning’s unit meeting the atmosphere was tense and expectant. Everyone knew already that the new Marine had arrived the night before and would be introduced to them today. No-one had seen him, but the rumour was that he was a new graduate. There had been a few groans at that, as they had been hoping for a transfer rather than a newbie, but with the unit not likely to be sent out on another mission until Daniel was fit again it made sense that they would be allocated a Nod to break in.

Everyone was milling around, waiting for the Captain to arrive. John noticed that people were coming even closer to him than the small size of the room required. They were trying to scent if he was starting his heat. John sighed and resolved to ask one of them later what he smelled like. Perhaps they would know if he was close. Bill or Matt would probably be the easiest to ask and John made a mental note to try to catch one of them alone later.

Just then the Captain arrived with the new Marine in tow. He was tall, well over six feet, probably close to four inches over. He almost had to duck to get through the doorway. He was wide too ‘built like a brick shithouse’ as the Marines rather inelegantly phrased it. His short blond hair was even lighter than John’s and he had matching light blue eyes. He looked like an advertising poster for Marine recruiting.

“This is Private John Frydenberg,” the Captain said. “He is a new graduate and I hope you will all make him welcome. He will be the new scout wingman for Prajeet, and Osman will pair with Daniel from now on. I hope you will all be supportive of the new pairs and the changes within the unit. Tomorrow we will start some working-up exercises to get everyone acquainted. Private Frydenberg, is there anything you would like to add?”

The new Marine smiled shyly. “I should just say that I don’t usually go by John. There are so many Jacks and Johns that I’ve always been called Joe. I’d like to keep it that way, if that’s all right with all of you.”

Lt. Wright laughed. “Probably an excellent idea, considering that we already have a John in the unit who goes by John!” He waved at John to stand up, which he did promptly. “We may as well start the introductions with our RAMC loaner and Unit Omega. This is Lt. John Watson.”

Joe looked John up and down and said, “I’ve never seen a Unit Omega before. Better stand on a chair John, you’re just a little fella. Can I call you Little John?”

John flushed with anger. “No, you can’t,” he said flatly. “I’ll have you know that I’ve served on three continents and seen more action that you have. So can I call _you_ Little John?”

Joe chuckled, “Well, I wouldn’t be the first big guy to go by Little John, so yes, if you like. I’ll call you ‘Three Continents Watson’ and be sure to show you appropriate respect.” John had the uneasy feeling that the eyes Joe swept over his body were anything but appropriate or respectful. Even if he had never seen a Unit Omega before he didn’t need to stare at John quite so… enthusiastically. John hoped his heat would come soon, so he would have a reason to put off mating with Joe. He left the meeting without waiting to hear the rest of the introductions.

# # # # # # # # # #

John spent the rest of the day hiding in his quarters. He had his pager if anyone needed urgent medical attention, but short of a major injury there was nothing he was needed for right now. His equipment was all stocked and up to date and the paperwork could always wait another day.

The only good thing that came of his self-isolation was that he was able to read Mike’s email as soon as it arrived. The email was chatty and reassuring telling him mostly what he already knew; that being less than a week overdue was nothing to worry about, it was probably stress and that he should try to stop thinking about it. Good advice, but unfortunately impossible to take. At the end of the email Mike had attached a PDF containing a list of suggested (but mostly unproven) ideas for bringing on heats. John eyed the list with disgust. Most of the ideas on it were frankly ridiculous. There was no way he was eating mint and catnip while lying on his back with his feet in the air. He was getting desperate enough for his heat to try a few of the less stupid things though. Some of the suggestions sounded not too crazy. He could protein-load easily enough, and get an Alpha’s shirt to sleep with and smell. That would be easy enough to do and if it kick-started his heat, all the better.

Feeling more cheerful and more prepared, John stuck his head into Lt. Wright’s office to ask him for a loan of an old shirt. He was alone and waved for John to come in and take a seat in front of his desk.

“John, come in. What can I do for you?” he asked.

“Oh, well, this is a bit embarrassing actually. Can I borrow one of your shirts? I need some Alpha pheromones.” John blushed.

“Ah,” the Lieutenant nodded with immediate understanding. “I thought your heat was a bit late this month.”

“Bloody hell, is everyone watching my calendar?” said John, with embarrassment.

The Lieutenant shrugged. “It’s something we all look forward to, obviously. But the Captain and I have been watching the calendar with particular attention this month, yes. The first heat with a new unit member is always a tricky moment.”

John folded his arms across his chest. “I’ve decided to spend this heat alone anyway, so don’t get too worried about it. It won’t happen until next month.”

The Lieutenant’s eyes widened. “You wouldn’t do that! Would you? Does the Captain know?”

John stared at him. “Of course he knows, and he would never force me to do anything I’m not comfortable with.”

The Lieutenant frowned. “Oh, of course he’d have to say that. But didn’t he try to persuade you? It can be very… difficult if the unit is used to having an Omega around and then that access is withdrawn.”

It was John’s turn to frown. “He just said he hoped I’d think about it.”

“Did he mention that if you want to spend your heat alone you should probably leave the base to do it?”

“No, I didn’t know that.” John was surprised.

The Lieutenant stood up and came from around his desk to stand leaning over John in his chair. “You smell so good, and we’ve got used to having you around. If you go into heat in your quarters, you could have Marine Alphas trying to break your door down to get to you. And I don’t think you’ve realized what an effect we have on you either. You’re asking for my shirt to get you into heat – don’t you think when you are there you will want the real thing?”

He leaned in close to John, scenting along his jaw and behind his ear and allowing John to scent him in return. Matt’s personal scent of orange blossom and sandalwood was strong in the room but as he came closer John could also smell the Alpha musk of arousal on him.

John shrank down into his chair. “Are you suggesting they might try to… to force me, if I didn’t allow them access to me during my heat?”

Sensing John’s fear, the Lieutenant stepped back to give John space and pursed his lips as he thought. “I don’t think so,” he said finally. “But it would be difficult for everyone and it is probably better not to tempt fate. If you are determined to do this, I strongly suggest removing yourself from the base entirely. I’m not sure I would want to be responsible for the subsequent events if something did get… out of control.”

John chewed his lip in thought. “I hadn’t realized it could get quite that bad.”

The Lieutenant gave him a crooked smile. “Surely it isn’t all bad?” he murmured. “I got the distinct impression there were parts of being a Unit Omega that could be quite… enjoyable.” He returned to his own side of the desk and sat down again. “I have a suggestion. How about you don’t try to bring on your heat – just let it happen. Give it a few days to let Joe settle in and see how you feel.”

John nodded. “All right, that sounds reasonable.” He cocked his head. “If I can ask, how do I smell to you?”

The Lieutenant gave him a genuinely joyful smile. “Delicious, like vanilla cream and honey. When you go into heat there is a touch of cinnamon as well. The combination reminds me a bit of my mother’s spiced vanilla cheesecake, actually.” He tried to swallow the saliva filling his mouth unobtrusively, but John noticed. “How do we smell to you?” he asked in return.

John thought about it. “You all have the underlying Alpha musk, which is more dominant at different times, but you have a variety of fruits and flowers as your personal scents. You smell like orange and sandalwood. The Captain smells like freshly cut grass. Bill reminds me of something like peach and pear. Daniel smells homey, like cherry pie.”

The Lieutenant leaned back in his chair and gave John a long look. “Well, cherry pie and cheesecake sounds all too tempting to resist. Think about how well we all do together before you make your final decision. You can still have one of my shirts if you want it.” He raised one eyebrow at John.

John hesitated. “I’ll let you know,” he said finally, and left the office.

# # # # # # # # # #

John’s heat was nine days late and he was just about climbing the walls. He could feel the hormones building up in his body without release. His glands felt swollen and tender and he was irritable with everyone. When Tony came into the first aid station for some paracetamol John sent him away with a royal chewing-out and told him that he was being ‘cut off’ and would have to supply his own hangover cures from now on. John rather sarcastically told him that swallowing bacon rind on a string for easy retrieval was now recommended in some circles.

The rest of the unit was settling in nicely. The first few exercises had been a bit rough around the edges, but the new pairs were working together increasingly smoothly. Osman and Daniel had hit it off so well everyone was starting to call them ‘Os-Dan’. Prajeet and Joe were being referred to as ‘Jeet and Joe’ by everyone except John.

John was still having trouble warming to Joe, and the new Marine was awkward with John as well. Sometimes he would stare at John or stand far too close, crowding John and scenting him at the most inappropriate moments. Other times he almost seemed to be avoiding John. Normally John would just put it down to newbie nerves and let it slide until everyone was used to each other, but at the moment with the pressure of his approaching heat every time he saw Joe he felt like punching him.

Everything came to a head one afternoon when Bill came into the sick bay while John was at lunch. He was looking for some dressings for a deep scratch on Nick’s shoulder, but he had been unable to find what he wanted. Instead of waiting for John to come back from lunch he had rummaged through the whole dressings trolley disordering everything that John had carefully sorted and stowed the night before.

When he saw the mess John completely lost his temper and started shouting at Bill and at Nick, ranting about being unappreciated and taken for granted and how he was sick of Marines, of Alphas in general and of this unit in particular. He was just getting stuck into how much he hated the weather in Afghanistan and why isn’t it possible to get decent coffee here, when the Lieutenant walked in, undoubtedly attracted by the sound of yelling.

The Lieutenant took one look at the situation and herded Bill and Nick out the door. He closed it behind them and sat with folded arms until John ran out of invective and paused for breath.

“John, you need to take some personal leave,” he said quietly.

“I’m not in heat!” exclaimed John.

“No, and that might be part of the problem, but the stress is getting to you. Take some down time, get away from the base if you like. Your heat will start when it starts, and when you come back to us afterwards you’ll feel better. You nearly lost it today. If the Captain had seen this, or worse someone from outside the unit, you might be facing disciplinary action.”

“It’s Joe!” yelled John. “If he hadn’t come here I’d be fine!”

The Lieutenant took John by the upper arm and started marching him out of the sick bay and back to his quarters. “It isn’t Joe,” he said quietly, “It’s you. You’re allowing your hormones to influence you until you are so erratic he doesn’t know how to respond to you. Sometimes you flaunt yourself in front of him, sometimes you are so standoffish he thinks he’s offended you.”

“He _has_ offended me!” John was almost in tears, but they were just at the door to his quarters by now so the Lieutenant shoved him inside and closed the door behind them. “Didn’t you hear him call me ‘Little John’ that first day?”

“Sure, we all did. Then you gave him a right set-down and that should have been the end of it. Christ, John, listen to yourself! You’ve never been the kind to hold a grudge before, let alone over something as petty as a silly nickname. You need to take leave, as soon as possible and get your heat over with and your head together. I’m saying this as a friend, John. Don’t make me take official notice of this situation.”

He left John alone then, to cry out his over-wrought feelings. He hated Joe. He hated Jack for leaving. He hated being an Omega and he hated that everyone wanted to screw him and that was all they saw him as useful for. He hated Afghanistan, the army, all Marines and all Alphas. Most of all he hated Matt, for being right.


	7. Chapter 7

The next morning John joined some of the unit at breakfast in the mess hall. He couldn’t help noticing some of the uneasy glances around the table, especially between ‘Jeet and Joe, and he kicked himself for letting it all go this far.

“Look, guys, I’m really sorry about how I’ve been lately,” he said. “I’ve been a bit on-edge, but it isn’t your fault and I shouldn’t have been taking it out on you.” He nodded to Joe in tacit acknowledgement that he deserved a special apology. “I’ll try to rein it in, but until this next heat is over I suggest you only come into the sick bay if you are really sick!”

The Marines all chuckled and the tension in the air cleared significantly. Tony even offered to fetch John some extra bacon and Joe asked him how he liked his coffee. He made it with too much milk, but John thanked him and drank it anyway.

He spent the rest of the day in his office and had just nicked off back to his quarters early when his pager went off with an urgent summons back to the first aid station. He snatched up his stethoscope and jogged across the short distance back to the sick bay.

Bill was leaning over one of the examination couches where Joe was lying on some bloodstained rags. He looked up as John entered the room. “So sorry to call you back when I know you’d just left, but this is a pretty nasty gash and I wanted your opinion on whether or not it can be sutured. I’ve washed it out already but I think if we suture it closed there might be too much tension on the stitches. Do you think it might need a skin graft?”

John looked at the laceration down Joe’s shin. It was long and deep and looked very painful. Joe was lying still with his eyes closed. John whispered to Bill “Did you sedate him?”

Joe opened his eyes. “No, I just don’t like the sight of my own blood.” He grimaced. “It was a stupid accident. I was standing on the back of one of the vans hauling in some equipment when I lost my balance. I laid open my shin on the edge of the towbar. Hurt like hell, but I think it’s a clean cut. Just sew me up, doc, and send me back out. I can handle it.”

“Hmmm,” said John, inspecting the wound. “There’s quite a bit of machine oil or grease or something around the edges. I’m going to need to debride it thoroughly before I close or it will get hopelessly infected and then you’ll be laid up for a week on antibiotics. The good news is that I think I _can_ close it, even though it is right over the shin bone.”

John turned and said to Bill over his shoulder “Get me a suture tray with an extra bottle of skin prep and I’ll wash this out and suture it. Better get some local too. Let’s use lignocaine with adrenaline, two ampoules please.” John scrubbed his hands and donned a surgical gown and gloves, then injected the local anaesthetic. By the time he was finished Joe was sweating and his eyes were wide and glassy.

“Hold on there, the worst is over,” said John. “Once the local kicks in you’ll be nicely numb and won’t feel a thing for the rest of it.” Joe only gave a non-committal mumble in reply and closed his eyes.

The next hour passed quickly for John with professional concerns about sterile technique, how much washing out the wound needed and how close together to place the sutures. Too far apart and there would be too much tension on each stitch and the wound would gape. Too close together and there would be more scarring than necessary. Not that Marines cared that much about scarring anyway, they usually viewed scars as bragging rights more than anything, but it was a matter of professional pride for John.

Finally it was all done and the wound was closed neatly and a tidy dressing stuck over it. John straightened up and groaned. He leaned back to stretch out his spine and started shedding his surgical gown. He was sweating after an hour suturing under the examination lamps. It was easy to forget how hot they were until you were gowned and gloved and working directly under the lights. He tossed his sweat-soaked greens into the laundry basket. Nothing to be done about his sweat-soaked shirt though. He should hit the showers before heading back to his quarters. Actually a cool shower sounded good, now that he thought about it. The room was bloody hot even without the lights right next to his head. When did that happen?

He shook Joe gently by the shoulder, “Hey, wake up, it’s all over. You can head back to your quarters and resume normal duties tomorrow. Try not to get the dressing dirty or wet for at least three days. After that come back to me for a dressing change and I’ll take the sutures out after seven… Why are you looking at me like that?”

Joe’s eyes had snapped open and he was staring hungrily at John. “You smell so good. I want to lick you like an ice-cream…” He blushed crimson. “Oh God, what am I saying? Bill, I think I’d better get back to my quarters.”

John started violently as Bill slid up behind him and started scenting along the back of his neck. “Mmmm, John? You know that heat we’ve all been waiting for? I think it’s here. You have about ten seconds to either clear out of here or take your trousers off. After that, I’m ripping them off you.”

John was suddenly trembling with lust. Every thought he had pushed away while he was concentrating on the wound surged to the front of his mind. Bill’s peach and pear scent was combining with Joe’s apple and cinnamon to make his mouth water. He vaguely recalled that he had plans to go offsite for this heat, but now he could not remember why he had wanted to do that. His unit was here, his Alphas were here and now his heat was here. Why would he want to leave? He had so many wild ideas crowding his head, he could hardly decide who he wanted to come in his mouth and who should penetrate him.

Convenience triumphed when he realized that Joe was already lying flat on a bed and in the perfect position for being mounted. He stripped off his own clothes and started clawing at Joe’s pants. He was in danger of disturbing the new dressing until Bill helped ease the clothing over the wound. By the time John climbed on top of Joe he was already wet with his own natural lubricant. John was rather proud of the fact that even with a whole unit of Alphas he had never required any artificial lubricant. He slid down the whole length of Joe’s erection and seated himself in Joe’s lap, rocking his hips slightly to get the best angle and sighing with satisfaction when he found it. Joe groaned at the sensation of John’s wet heat engulfing him completely. Bill was kissing John’s neck and shoulders when John had a fantastic idea. He turned and leaned down but couldn’t quite reach Bill’s cock with his mouth. He whined in desperation to be filled properly at both ends.

Despite the hormonal haze, Bill remembered that the examination beds had an adjustable height facility. He lowered the bed as far as it would go, bringing John’s mouth into striking range of his cock. John attacked and slid Bill into his mouth as far as he could manage, stroking the underside with his tongue and swirling around the head each time Bill withdrew.

In this position John was not able to move around much, but Bill and Joe took care of that for him. He was pinned between them, writhing in ecstasy as Joe thrust into him from below and Bill fucked his mouth. He was filled, fulfilled and the hormones flushing through his body swept the last conscious thoughts away as he climaxed all over Joe beneath him. Bill came in his mouth immediately after, driven over the edge by John’s moans of pleasure vibrating through him. Joe gave a few more thrusts and then came, filling John with his hot fluids.

Bill flopped into one of the chairs as John collapsed on top of Joe and there was satisfied silence in the room for a few minutes. Bill finally stirred and said “We should let the Captain know. He’s been waiting rather anxiously for your heat.”

“Mmmm,” mumbled John without moving or opening his eyes.

Joe sighed and rubbed his hands up and down John’s back as John purred and arched into his touch. “So, that’s what it is like with an Omega in heat. I think you’ve spoiled me for all those Beta girls I’ve been chasing.”

Bill laughed. “Not just any Omega, our John is one of a kind. They broke the mould when they made him. But we should get you up and back to your quarters. You can have another go with John tomorrow. There will be other people wanting his attention now.”

Bill came over to John and helped him to climb down off the examination table. He whimpered a little as he was peeled off Joe and felt the knot slip out of his body. Bill kissed him and helped him onto the bedroll he had already spread on the floor. “John, honey, will you be all right alone for a few minutes? I’ve paged Matt and he’s on his way over with Nick, but I should get Joe back to his quarters. Assuming he can walk, that is.”

Joe groaned. “Forget about the wound, it’s the shagging that’s made me too weak to walk!” Nevertheless he swung his legs down off the bed and tested his balance on his feet. His trousers had been torn in the same fall which had injured his leg, so with a shrug he threw them straight into the bin. He took an examination gown and wrapped it around his hips instead. With Bill’s help he limped out of the room. On the way out Bill hung his old sign on the door. The one which had been altered to read, “Service John”.

Two Alphas had already been through, the Lieutenant was on his way with another one. Soon there would be more Alphas inside him and the whole unit would be back in balance with him at its centre. He was doing all his jobs and the wheels were turning smoothly once again. Satisfied that all was as it should be, John allowed himself to drift off to sleep.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two years later...

John dressed carefully in his best formal Blues. He pinned his medals and service bars on his chest, straightened his hat and inspected his appearance in the mirror. Perfect. He checked the time and found he was running ten minutes early. Nerves will do that. Should he add some cologne? No, better not overdo it. Besides, he wanted his natural scent for this interview.

On the mark of 1630 exactly (last appointment of the day) he walked into the office of Captain Peter Spiers, saluted and stood at attention in front of the Captain’s desk. The Captain looked up from his paperwork and did a visible double take. “John! Or rather,” he stood up and formally returned John’s salute. “Captain Watson. Please, stand easy. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

John remained in a formal ‘at ease’ posture as the Captain slowly reseated himself behind his desk. “I would like to discuss my future career with this unit.”

“Ah. Your future. Yes.” The Captain frowned. “Your recent promotion means that you are technically overqualified for this position in our unit. If you wish to request a transfer to a larger unit I will of course support your application. I will admit to some surprise, however. I had thought you were happy here and I did not realize you were ambitious to climb the military ladder.”

“Transfer, that’s the problem, yes.” John nodded firmly. “I have no intention of transferring or allowing myself to be transferred out of this unit under any circumstances.”

The Captain looked relieved but did not comment.

John continued. “I agree that my promotion is actually a potential problem in this instance. I wish to ensure that I cannot be transferred out of this unit.”

The Captain raised both eyebrows. “And how do you plan to ensure that? I will not cooperate with any scheme to have you demoted.”

“No, sir. That was not what I had in mind. I was thinking of a more formal connection with the unit. Captain, sir, two years ago I asked you to bond with me. You refused, on the very reasonable grounds that I was new and potentially a temporary addition to the unit, and that I did not realize what Marine life was like after merely six months. I have come to renew that offer, and to request that you reconsider bonding with me.” John dropped the formal manners and came around to the Captain’s side of the desk. He slid to both knees in front of the Captain’s chair.

“Peter, please, I’ve been here for nearly three years and you have no reason to doubt my loyalty. If we were bondmates I couldn’t be transferred out against my will, and you know that unless we do something I _will_ be transferred and probably quite soon. The unit would benefit from having me here permanently. You never said that you disliked the idea of bonding with me, so I would be honoured if you would take my collar.” John dropped his eyes to the floor and waited with held breath.

“John.” The Captain’s voice was low and soft. “You’ve given me a lot of good and logical reasons for wanting to bond with one of us, but I can’t help wondering, why me? Do you have any personal reasons for this decision? Bonding with someone is not usually done for career choice reasons.”

“Personal reasons? Yes, sir, I do. With the promotion of Matt and Nick, and Daniel’s retirement and my own promotion I feel like everything is changing. I want to hold on to what we have here, sir. And as you said two years ago, I love being the Unit Omega but it is rather impersonal. I want a more intense personal relationship with you, sir. Of course I will still spend my heats with the unit as a whole, I won’t neglect my responsibilities there, but I want to spend every night in the same person’s arms and have that Alpha-Omega bond that I’ve seen other Omegas have.”

“John.” The Captain sat back and carefully refrained from touching John’s hand where it rested on the arm of his chair. “Loneliness and fear are not a good basis for building a relationship.”

“Sir! That’s not what I said!” John protested.

“Isn’t it? You spoke of change and how you want to hold on to the present. Isn’t that another way of talking about fear of the future? You spoke of wanting a more intimate bonding experience but you never said you loved me, personally.”

“I do, sir!”

“No, you don’t John. If you did you would have said that first.” The Captain looked rather sad.

“Sir, please! I like and respect you and I think we could build something good together.” John gripped the arm of the chair with both hands. “Please, don’t send me away empty handed.”

“John, listen to me, you don’t really want to do this. You are already a Captain, you have a shining career ahead of you in the RAMC if you want it. Or you could finish your tour and have a civilian career as a surgeon. I’m twenty years older than you and still a Captain posted to a small unit of Marines in Afghanistan. I’ll never leave the army and in all probability never return to England. Believe me, you don’t want to bind yourself to me.”

“I do! I do!” John was crying openly now. “I don’t want to return to England, I don’t care about England. I want to work and to share the work with someone who understands it and me. I’ll never find that back in England. I need to belong to someone and I don’t think I’ll ever find a better match than you, sir.”

“Oh, so you’re feeling the biological clock ticking and you’ve decided to settle for what’s available, is that it?” The Captain said, rather contemptuously. “All Omegas get that way sometimes. Is your heat due soon? Go and have a cold shower and a nice lie down and you’ll feel better.”

“How dare you!” John hissed. He climbed to his feet and swept the tears out of his eyes. “This is nothing to do with my heat, and I don’t need you to condescend to me.”

“No, you don’t. You probably don’t need me at all, is that right?”

“No, I don’t! My offer is withdrawn. Let’s forget we ever had this conversation.” John straightened his back and stalked out of the office without waiting to be dismissed.

The Captain picked up his desk telephone and pressed a speed dial number. It picked up after only two rings. “Luke? Could you cover my unit for the evening, please? Something has come up and I need to head into town. … No, nothing much, I was just hoping you could take my calls for the evening. … Well, you know our RAMC loaner, John? I’ve just done him a favour and I feel the need to get away for a bit. … Not a celebration exactly, no. I’ll probably get drunk though. … Thanks, mate, I owe you one.”

# # # # # # # # # #

John ran back to his quarters and tore off his Blues, still fuming. How dare the Captain speak to him like that? As if he was hormonal and stupid and just an Omega with no brain? Obviously he had completely misunderstood the Captain’s character and it was a lucky escape that they were not going to bond after all. A cold shower and a nice lie-down indeed! John would show him he didn’t need a bond-mate, didn’t need anyone. All John needed was a big Alpha cock, and fortunately he knew exactly where to find as many as he wanted…

John stalked into the main barracks dormitory and everyone present stared. John rarely came in here. If he wanted to talk to any of the unit he tended to stand at the door and call them out to him or page them to the sick bay. He always said the scent of Alpha in the barracks was too overpowering. On the rare occasions he did come into the dorm, he had never dressed like _that_ before either.

Now John was standing in the middle of the barracks, wearing his oldest and tightest exercise gear. A sleeveless tank showed off his arms and the back of his neck, and the shorts were tight enough to leave no ambiguity as to why he was here. He had obviously been for a run. The sweat was pouring off him and carrying a heavy wave of pheromones with it. He was not in heat, but he was obviously in the mood. The only question was who was going to get to him first.

‘Jeet and Joe exchanged looks, as did Osman and Ben. Tony and the new recruit, Finbar, looked resigned to missing out as the others moved in on John. The half of the unit that had gone to dinner already was certainly going to regret missing this!

John stretched, consciously drawing attention to his body and allowing his top to ride up to show bare skin. “Boys,” he drawled. “I think I need someone to take me to _bed_ and tuck me in. Whoever can catch me, that is!” With that, he turned on his heel and bolted out the door with four Alphas in eager pursuit.

John was in sparkling form. He had already warmed up and was determined to give the Alphas a run for their money before allowing himself to be caught. He ran through the camp, laughing and enjoying his own strength and speed and his display of desirability.

Marines are not exactly slow off the mark, especially with such a tempting reward for their efforts and both pairs of Marines had been working together for years. ‘Jeet and Joe split up and ran around opposite sides of the mess hall. Osman chased straight after John while Ben took a short cut to John’s quarters in the knowledge that he must end up back there eventually.

John ran and dodged with delight. He did not dare look back although he knew they were chasing him. He was in good shape but his shorter legs were a disadvantage. He needed to find somewhere to hide before doubling back. He knew they would stake out his quarters, so his intention was to go to ground in the sick bay. That had _two_ beds and he would be sure to reward the smartest Marine, or Marine pair, that could find him.

He had underestimated their level of motivation. As he crawled out from under the quartermaster’s store building Joe pounced on him and lifted him over his shoulder, crowing triumphantly. “Got him! I caught myself a little mouse!”

“Aww, you have to share!” shouted Osman. “I chased him into your arms!”

John kicked his legs and pretended to struggle, confident that Joe would not drop him, and giggled in Joe’s ear. “Now, now, boys, there’s plenty of me to go around. How about we head back to my room and I’m sure we can come to some arrangement.”

“I’d know where I’d rather come,” muttered Joe as he set off at a jog towards John’s quarters.

Prajeet caught up with them at the same time as they met Ben. Both pouted at their opposite numbers and begged so hard to be included that John magnanimously invited them all into his room.

Joe threw John down onto his own bed and stood over him, panting. “That doesn’t look big enough for all of us at once,” he observed. “If we have to take turns, I’m going first.”

“Wouldn’t you rather _come_ first?” asked John coyly.

“Right, that’s it.” Joe started stripping off his clothes as fast as possible and throwing them on the floor. “Get ready to take it as hard as you can.”

“You mean as hard as _you_ can,” returned John wriggling vigorously to get his very tight shorts off. “I can take whatever you can dish out.”

“Mmmm, very dishy…” murmured Ben from John’s desk chair.

“Assume whatever position you’d like to be in when I fuck your brains out.” Joe warned, then pounced. John was lying on his stomach on the bed, but Joe grabbed his hips and pulled him up onto his hands and knees. “That’s better, now ‘Jeet can have access to your cock as well. We’re used to sharing…” He groaned and stopped talking as he sheathed himself fully inside John’s hot body in one smooth stroke. He rolled his hips slowly, clearly enjoying the moment and not wanting to take it too fast just yet.

Prajeet slid himself under John and stared at his fully erect cock for a moment before taking it in his hand and stroking it from root to tip. “Small, but responsive. Does this feel nice, John?”

“Oh God, yes,” John gasped. “Same number of nerve endings as you’ve got in yours, only closer together. Feels wonderful.”

“Mmmm,” returned Prajeet. “I never knew that. I’m guessing you’ll like this too, then.” He opened his lips and slid onto John’s cock, taking the whole length into his mouth. John groaned and bucked his hips forward, causing Ben to laugh.

“I’m guessing that’s a yes!” Ben remarked from where he was watching.

“My turn too,” announced Osman. “I wanna kiss those pretty lips. Last heat I only got to take you from behind and I missed your mouth, John.” Osman wriggled onto the top end of the bed, leaning against the bed head and kissing John thoroughly. The angle was a little awkward, but John still managed to get his tongue into Osman’s mouth for a moment.

Then Joe dragged him back by his hips and he lost contact with Osman. It was probably for the best, as Joe was now slamming into him from behind hard enough that he would have cracked his skull against Osman’s anyway.

Prajeet and Joe were now coordinating their strokes, with Joe pushing into John and then Prajeet stroking his cock as Joe withdrew. The combined stimulation was heavenly and John laughed a little as he remembered that when Joe arrived on their unit he had never even seen a unit Omega before. Now, he seemed to have mastered all the necessary skills for nailing John hard right alongside his wingman.

“I’m glad you think this is funny,” gasped Joe from behind. “Because I’m going to fill you with come in a minute, and then Ben can take over and keep fucking that tight little arse of yours.” He gave three more powerful thrusts with his hips then went still, though John could feel his cock twitching inside him as he filled John with his seed.

John gasped with the sudden flush of warmth through his body, and pushed Prajeet away hurriedly. He wasn’t ready to come yet. “Hey, ‘Jeet, if you slide up here a bit I’ll return the favour.”

Prajeet didn’t need to be asked twice. Osman obligingly moved out of the way, and Prajeet took his place at the head of the bed kneeling so that his cock was at the right level for John to reach with his mouth. Ben had taken Joe’s place behind John, and now slid into his body. Ben groaned.

“Oh, God, John. You feel so hot and wet. It’s like you’re in heat, you’re so fucking wet. That’s one of the things I’ve always liked about doing it with you, John. Can’t stand using bloody lube. Unnatural chemicals all over my cock, forget it! This,” he punctuated the word with a thrust of his hips, “is the only way to fly.”

“You are such a motor-mouth, Ben,” observed Osman. “Can’t you shut up even for two minutes while you do John? Fuck, I don’t know how John can stand it.”

“Two minutes?” said Ben indignantly. “I’ll have you know that I was the first to please John and to convince him to become our Unit Omega in the first place.”

“No, you weren’t,” John interrupted. “Bill was the first, then you and Matt.”

“Details,” sniffed Ben. “You can’t deny that I was one of the reasons you decided to do it.”

“Nope,” said John. “I just did it for access to the Captain’s secret stash of lemon butter.”

“What?” laughed Joe from somewhere out of John’s range of vision. “I don’t think I know this story.”

Prajeet said, “I’ll tell it, John. You can go back to what you were doing.” He pushed his hips forward meaningfully and John obligingly took his prick back into his mouth. He did not need to move at all, as Ben’s forceful thrusts moved him enough to create friction up and down Prajeet’s shaft.

“Mmm, thanks John, that’s nice.” Prajeet murmured. “Oh yes, the Captain’s lemon butter. Well, the Captain has a private supply of lemon butter which he gets sent over from England, I think from his sister. It reminds him of home, apparently. He tries to make it last, so he doesn’t share it often, but apparently he once gave John some – by getting him to lick it off his cock!”

John released Prajeet’s dick with a pop. “Yes, but only once. The Cap is lucky that I don’t especially like it. Isn’t lemon and butter a bit of a weird combination?”

“Well,” sniggered Ben, “Lemon and butter and cock sounds a bit odd, now you mention it.”

Prajeet shrugged. “No stranger than orange marmalade, when you think about it. Much better than that abomination of a food that goes by the name of ‘Marmite’. Don’t ever bring that stuff near me again.”

“It isn’t meant to be eaten with a tablespoon,” rebuked Joe.

“I thought it was some kind of chocolate spread at first, but I was wrong,” recalled Prajeet with a shudder. Then he shivered and moaned for an entirely different reason as John’s talented tongue rubbed over his frenulum. “Oh, John, I’m going to…” he broke off with a gasp and threw his head back as his climax caught him by surprise. He sighed and sank back against the head of the bed.

John smiled and licked his lips. “I think it’s Osman’s turn next, or would you rather have Ben’s place?”

Osman stood next to the bed and reached his hand under John’s body to grasp his erection. “I’ll wait for Ben, but what on earth could I do in the meantime?” He started rubbing his fingertips over John’s glans which was already wet with pre-come.

“Oh yes, just like that,” hissed John. “Touch me like that, give it to me now!” John jerked his hips and thrust into Osman’s fist a few times, then he was coming and spraying semen all over his bedspread. The rhythmic contractions of his body tipped Ben over the edge and he groaned and climaxed as John writhed under him.

John stayed on his hands and knees with his head hanging down, panting as Ben slid out of him and made his way back to the desk chair on shaking legs.

“Don’t you dare get come all over my chair,” John warned. “There are tissues here somewhere… Oh, thanks Joe.”

Osman took Ben’s place behind John. “Are you sure you’re still OK for this?” he asked. “Not too sensitive?”

John shook his head. “I think there’s so much lubrication back there you won’t need to worry. Go for it, see if you can make me come again, I dare you.”

Osman chuckled. “I doubt it. Not today anyway. Watching you getting screwed by half the unit has me so hard already I reckon it will be about thirty seconds before I come inside you. If Ben can keep his mouth shut, that is.” He closed his eyes and rolled his hips into John slowly a few times before picking up speed and slamming into John as hard as he could. In less than a minute he was crying out and collapsing against John’s back.

All four of the Marines helped John strip the bed and change the sheets, then ‘Jeet and Joe had to leave for their duty shift. Osman and Ben elected to stay the night though, so John drifted off to sleep sandwiched between them. Who needed a bond-mate anyway?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to know what John's unit looks like, take a look at this (hilarious) video. I didn't find it myself, a reader sent it to me, but I agree that it captures the spirit of John's Alpha unit!
> 
> http://viralvideosgallery.com/entertainer/bored-swedish-marines-greased-lightnin-in-afghanistan/


	9. Chapter 9

John went to get his coat before heading across to the mess hall for a late lunch. Winter in Afghanistan got bloody cold, and he had… left his coat in his quarters when he was paged urgently to sick bay this morning. Now he remembered. Damn. He rummaged through the cupboards, hoping someone had left behind something warm to wear. He was lucky enough to find a Marine overcoat left behind. The coat smelled a bit dusty, it had obviously been forgotten in the cupboard since last winter. It was much too large for him, but so much the better. It would trap more body heat that way. He gathered it in as much as possible and cinched the belt around his waist as small as it would go. Still too much room, but it would do for the quick run across to the mess hall where it was warm inside. He could then swing past his own quarters for a proper coat. Ducking his chin into the collar, John dashed out the sick bay and set a fast march for the mess hall.

He reached the hall to find a few people still milling around getting some late lunch. The hot food was sitting under heating lamps getting crusty, which John abhorred. He headed across to the sandwich bar and started assembling a salad sandwich for himself. He was just debating the merits of wilted lettuce versus wilted spinach when the sound of his own name drew his attention. He pulled his hat down over his face and started listening with intent.

“…Watson, the medic with Captain Spiers’ unit? The short guy?”

“He’s a disgrace to the RAMC. He barely made the height requirement for the Medical Corps. He looks ridiculous parading around among all those Marines.”

“Oh, come on, that doesn’t bother me. But is it true what they say about him…?”

“Yes. It’s disgusting. I suppose in these days of political correctness an Omega has to be allowed into the RAMC, but to send him here! This is not a large base, and I’m sure everyone knows that he actually spends his heats _with_ his unit, if you know what I mean.”

“Oh my God. You mean twelve Alphas and him…? Every month? I can hardly imagine… That’s…”

“Disgusting, is the word you are looking for.”

“Mmm, maybe. I wonder how he maintains discipline.”

“Hmph. I imagine he bats his eyelids and promises them a blow job every time they follow one of his orders. It isn’t good for the image of the RAMC to have a doctor carrying on like that. _And_ I heard that Captain Spiers specifically requested him. Must have known he was likely to be a slag before he even got here.”

“That’s a bit harsh, don’t you think? I hear he’s a good surgeon.”

“Probably letting the whole surgical suite get a leg over. Bloody Omegas, disruptive to the service, that’s what I’ve always thought.”

“Well, it’s not as bad as bloody Williamson, from Captain Archer’s unit. I heard the other day he completely missed a fibula fracture until he sent the guy to the physiotherapists for remobilization and the _physio_ picked it up! Talk about embarrassing…”

The two speakers drifted off with their lunch to find a table. John looked down to find his hands shaking and his sandwich contents scattered all over his plate. It didn’t matter. He wasn’t hungry anyway. Keeping his head down, he headed back to sick bay and his work. He was a damn good doctor, regardless of what anyone thought of his personal life.

# # # # # # # # # #

John continued to brood over the conversation for the rest of the day. He knew that civilians generally whispered about what ‘service Omegas’ got up to, and that there were whole porn channels devoted to the subject. The navy Omegas seemed to get most of the air time, but there were plenty of puns and sniggering over the whole ‘service’ idea. Some of the porn vids had the most ignorant and ridiculous mix of uniforms, obviously the directors either had no idea or didn’t care. When there were uniforms worn at all, that was. Most of the vids were completely ridiculous in other ways too, of course. He would never let anyone bugger him with a gun. That would be terribly uncomfortable, not to mention dangerous. Did the idiots who even made those films know what a real gun looked like? The sights on the barrel, for instance? They probably used water pistols for the movies, judging by the amount of lube that got thrown around. He snorted in recollection. Those films were obviously made by Alphas with heated imaginations.

Still, it rankled to have his own colleagues think of him in that way. They obviously thought his interactions with the unit would be affected by spending his heats with them. Well, in a way it did, but it was a good way. Captain Spiers certainly thought so, and the new Lieutenant with the Indian name had only been here one month so far but was integrating with the unit well, partly thanks to John. So the lot of them could just bugger off. He was a good doctor and a good bonding force for the unit as a whole and he refused to feel ashamed of his methods. Mostly…

# # # # # # # # # #

John was still worrying at the subject the next day when Bill came into the sick bay, so he decided to tackle the topic head on.

“Bill, do you think it is unprofessional for a doctor to also be a Unit Omega?”

Bill looked up, startled at the question. “Dunno. Never thought about it. Don’t think so, why would it be? It isn’t like you are trying to operate while taking it up the arse.”

John snorted at the mental image. “Yeah, thanks for that considered opinion.”

Bill folded his arms. “Well, what else would make it unprofessional? If you were trying to work while in heat, yeah, that could get… distracting.” He winked at John, then became serious again. “But being an Omega doesn’t influence your ability to remember anatomy, choose antibiotics or triage patients under stress. Sure, there are stupid bigots out there who think that all Omegas should be kept in the kitchen, barefoot and pregnant or something like that, but those throwbacks are dying out anyway. Don’t let what they think slow you down.”

John thought about what Bill had said. It was all true, as far as it went. “How about for unit discipline? Do you find it hard to work with me knowing what we did together last week?”

“Nope.” Bill shrugged. “Husbands and wives work together all the time and no-one blinks or even thinks it is strange. How many husband and wife teams do you know, especially in civilian life?”

“Heaps.” John admitted. “Half my medical class bonded to each other. Probably because they were too busy to get out and meet other people.”

“Yeah, you doctors are all eggheads, aren’t you?”

“Thanks, I think,” said John with heavy sarcasm. “But yes, there are lots of surgeon/anaesthetist pairs. Even more specialist/primary care doctor pairs. I know one doctor/nurse pair. The doctor is the Omega in that pair, actually. They had three boys last time I checked…” he broke off, musing.

“So having sex doesn’t automatically make you a bad doctor then, does it? Nor does it make you unable to work with those you have sex with. So no problem, then. Where is the adhesive tape, anyway?”

John didn’t answer, still caught up in his thoughts about married couples working together. His chain of thought was suddenly jolted by a realization. “But that’s not what we have here. This is a twelve-Alpha unit with one Omega in the middle of it. None of us are bonded to each other. People seem to think I’m some kind of… slag.” He said the last word quietly, and with some pain.

Bill’s head came up quickly from rummaging through the dressings trolley. “Never,” he hissed. “They have no right to judge what we do. They have no _idea_ what you do for us. Do you think Daniel would have recovered from his injury and continued with us for a whole ‘nother year after losing Jack if not for you? You know you’re the only one who can keep Tony on the wagon at all, and now we have a new Lieutenant who is blending in with the unit with practically no griping – do you even know how rare that is? Usually a new Lieutenant and the old Sergeant will have little bickers for dominance, sometimes all-out pitched battles. It can range from mildly annoying to downright disruptive to discipline. Did you not notice that we’ve had _none_ of that since you started with us?”

John had nothing to say. Of course he had no idea how the unit had functioned before he came. How could he?

“You think it is mildly amusing how the boys compete to make your tea the way you like it and to make sure you have the best piece of bacon at breakfast. In one light it is rather funny. But do you know how competitive Alphas can get without a focus? A unit of Marines on an isolated base like this can turn to fighting among ourselves. I’ve seen soldiers maim each other permanently in what was supposed to be a little dominance struggle that got out of hand. It’s every Captain’s nightmare. You don’t know how glad Captain Spiers was to find you. He should have been down on his knees thanking heaven for you – before going down on his knees for something else entirely, of course.”

“Yeah, well that’s kind of the problem, isn’t it?” John frowned. “Everyone assumes that my sexual function is what I’m really here for. That my medical skills are the secondary reason.”

“Does it bother you what they think, when you know they are wrong?” Bill tilted his head slightly. “You were here for nearly six months before spending a heat with us. You’ve been a doctor for years working in NHS hospitals. You know what your medical skills are worth – no false modesty now. You know you’re a bloody good doctor. And anyway, I bet they’re just jealous! You’re getting more action every month than they probably see in a year! And who wouldn’t be jealous? You get to sleep with me!” Bill ran both hands down his own chest and wriggled his hips in a cheesy parody of a pole dancer’s moves.

“Blimey, if I’d known _you_ were on this unit I’d never have accepted transfer in the first place!” John rolled his eyes at Bill’s antics. “And anyway, the adhesive tape is here.” John bunged it directly at Bill’s face, but was disappointed not to score a hit. Bill’s reflexes were Marine-fast and he caught it just in front of his nose.

“Thanks, mate. I gotta get back to the training ground. Let’s talk about this problem you have with getting too much sex with twelve fit Booties later, OK?”

“Later,” John agreed.

# # # # # # # # # #

John opened his room door later that night to find Bill standing in front of him with two bottles of beer.

“Hey, John. I just thought we could have a cold one and chat for a bit.” Bill smiled shyly. “You seemed really bothered by some of the Omega stuff and I wondered if you’d like some company and sounding board to bounce ideas off.”

John folded his arms over his chest. “You know I’m not in heat, right?”

Bill flushed. “Of course not, I wasn’t think anything like that. This was just supposed to be a night of two buddies drinking and talking. Unless you’d like anything else, that is. But I wasn’t presuming… I mean, I didn’t necessarily think you would want to… Aw, shit, John. I dunno. I just don’t like to see you second guessing yourself. I’m here to help and offer comfort of whatever kind you like. Take it or leave it.” Bill threw up his hands, nearly breaking one of the beer bottles on the door frame.

“Hey, hey, no reason to waste perfectly good beer!” said John, rescuing the bottle. “Yeah, sorry for being a bit of a dick, I’m just… Come in, anyway.”

“Thanks. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t fretting yourself into, I dunno, premature baldness or anything.” Bill perched on the edge of his seat and leaned forward earnestly. “We value you for everything you do, you aren’t just a body that we use for fun, or anything like that.”

“Mmm.” John was unconvinced. “You sure think I’m fun some of the time.”

“Well, yes, of course.” Bill shrugged, “But that’s not the main value you have for us, you know. There are ways to have fun off-site, as I’m sure you are aware. Most units don’t actually get their fun within their unit. You are more than ‘fun’ – you are serious.”

John snorted, disbelievingly.

“No, really. You are a healer for us in so many ways. You walk into a room and we all feel better. You touch my arm and I feel your confidence in me. You bandage something or stitch something and your smell lingers on our skin for days, reminding us that we are cared-for by you. You just sit and listen to me talk and I feel that you really see me, that you value me just as I am. You can calm our arguments and make our differences seem petty just by laughing at them. But you never laugh at us. The look in your eye when you look at us tells us that you love us and you want us to be happy together, all of us. Not just happy – good together. Strong. Like we ‘can do’, you know? I can’t describe it better than that, but it’s important. It matters to us. No wonder we all want to be close to you, to get next to you all the time.”

By now Bill was leaning into John’s shoulder, he turned his head and scented along under John’s jaw and down his neck. “God, you always smell so good. It’s not just about sex. Well, sometimes it is, but not always. It’s mainly about being close to you.”

“Mmm,” John agreed. “Close is nice. Close is good. I think you’re right about comfort. Shall we move this to the bed?”

Bill needed no further hints. He scooped John up into his arms and carried him to the bed. Carefully placing John in the middle of the bed, he slowly and tenderly peeled off all their clothes until they were skin on skin together. Then he licked and kissed all the exposed skin until John was a puddle of sensuality on top of his own covers. Only then did he climb on top and enter John, slowly rocking their hips together in a long ascent to their peak of pleasure. The climax came on them both suddenly, and they were crying out together in ecstasy. They were as close as they could be, and it was comfort to both of them.

As they fell asleep with Bill’s arm curled around John’s chest and resting over his heart, John intertwined his fingers with Bill’s. Could they make something more of this? John started to think seriously about his future. He knew that Bill would never leave the Marines. The Service was his life and in his blood in a way that for John it was just… not. John felt the certainty crystallize in his mind. He might see another tour, maybe two, but he would not stay in the army for life. He would want to leave sometime, set up a civilian surgical practice, have a steady home – maybe even a family? Yes, John imagined building a nest and having pups, having Bill come home to him… No, that wasn’t going to work. Captain Spiers? No, too old and like Bill, not wanting to leave the service. Well, never mind, a mate of some kind. A properly bonded Alpha who wouldn’t share him with anyone else, who would be devoted and prepared to make sacrifices for him. Maybe a doctor? Another doctor would be a good match for him, someone who could understand the stresses of his life and who wouldn’t be put off by his history as a Unit Omega. Well anyway, leave the face of the Mysterious Alpha a blank for now. For now, he had Bill’s arms warm around him and the rest of the unit comfortingly close by. For now, that was enough. John slept.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three months later...

For the first time since becoming the Unit Omega, John felt the familiar prickle of heat sweat running down his back with annoyance. Was it thirty-six days already? His bloody heats seemed to come around so fast it was a wonder he ever got anything done. He stared at himself in the mirror in his quarters, assessing his face with doctor’s eyes. He looked tired. His eyes were a little sunken, not badly enough to have dark rings underneath, just a little bit worn. There was tension in the set of his jaw and around his lips. Perhaps he needed a holiday? Some kind of change? He certainly needed something. Something apart from the obvious, which he was about to get whether he liked it or not.

John flopped into his desk chair and sighed. He needed to get his heat leave forms filled out and notify his replacement, then he should head over to the sick bay. Bleh. He was tired of it all, and in a way which seemed different from his occasional pre-heat tension. He needed a change of pace, but how to do it when he was about to spend four days being fucked every which way in his own first aid station?

John suddenly had an idea. He filled out the heat leave forms in his rapid and practically illegible doctor’s scrawl and took them down to the Lieutenant’s office. This was not something he wanted to discuss with Captain Spiers.

Tapping on the door of Lt. Chandran’s office, John worried for a moment that he was being unreasonable. But this was something he felt he needed, and Lt. Chandran had always been approachable and would at least listen, even if he ended up refusing John’s request.

“Enter.”

John stepped into the office and pushed closed the door behind himself. “I’ve come to lodge my request for heat leave, sir.”

The Lieutenant looked surprised in his usual dignified and slightly formal way. “It was not necessary to bring it in person. You know this, so there is perhaps something else you wanted to discuss?”

John blushed. “Yes, actually. I was hoping to change the conditions of my heat this month. I’ve never used the heat tent, but I was wondering if it could be set up for me?”

“Of course, if you wish it.” The Lieutenant’s expression was carefully neutral. “As you say, you have not, in the last four months I have been with this unit, ever used it before. May I enquire as to what has changed?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” John burst out, rather to his own surprise. “I just need something different, a change of some kind.”

“Ah.” Lt. Chandran tilted his head as he stared at John for a moment. “I have seen this before in Unit Omegas after a while. You have been on this unit for just over three years, I think?”

John nodded. “It’s been great, all the guys have been great, really. I don’t know what’s the matter with me. I just need something… different. I’m feeling a bit touched out.” John laughed rather self-consciously. “I’m not sure that’s even a word, but it describes how I feel. Touched out, worn out, used up…” he shrugged, unable to name more specifically what was going on since he did not fully understand it himself.

The Lieutenant nodded. “If I may make a suggestion? How about a ‘boyfriend experience’?”

“I’m sorry, a what?” said John.

“A boyfriend experience. You have never done this?” The Lieutenant looked surprised again. “It was routine on my previous unit, about every third or fourth heat the Omega would request that the unit members enter her heat tent one at a time and role-play being her boyfriend. This is what she called it; the ‘boyfriend experience’. She said it fulfilled her emotional side and allowed her to continue being the Unit Omega for much longer than if she had been just a body, a vessel for heat hormones and their relief. Does this sound like something that might be helpful for you?”

John felt relief flooding through him. “Yes, yes it does. I’m not going crazy then – other Omegas have felt this way?”

“I have not had a great deal of experience with Unit Omegas, as you are only the third I have worked with so far. But both of the other two did this regularly. I am rather surprised that you have not.”

“You don’t think the guys on the unit will think it is kind of silly?” asked John, with hesitation.

“It worked well in the other units. The other two Omegas were both women, but I am not sure that this makes such a large difference as is commonly supposed. My suggestion is that we try it and see how you like it. If you find it is not working for you, we can always change back.”

John nodded. “Sounds like a plan. Will you hang a sign on the tent flap, or what?”

The Lieutenant looked shocked. “Certainly not. That would be most indiscreet and not very romantic. Once the heat tent is set up I will inform the rest of the unit of the situation and of your expectations for their behaviour. I believe they will comply, once they realize the alternative is to not have any contact with you during this heat.”

John gasped. “Can I do that? I always thought the whole unit had to be included in every heat?”

The Lieutenant smiled slyly. “The whole unit will be invited to participate, of course. If they choose not to do so under the stipulated conditions, that is their prerogative. It will not damage unit integrity if one or two Marines do not engage in the role play.” He looked rather serious for a moment. “It might damage the unit much more if you felt unable to continue in your position with us. Go back to your quarters for now, and I will send someone to escort you to the heat tent once it is ready.”

“Thank you, Lt. Chandran, sir. I appreciate your input.” John saluted and exited the office.

# # # # # # # # # #

John waited in his quarters in rather a state of nerves. It had been a long time since he had gone on a date, and from Lt. Chandran’s description that was close enough to what was about to happen. He had showered and changed into his dress uniform, as instructed. He now awaited his ‘escort’ to the heat tent. It was not clear to him why this was necessary. He knew where the heat tent was usually set up, even if he had never requested its use for himself.

Fortunately, before he could fret himself into a sweat and ruin the good of his shower, he heard a polite knock at his door. He flung it open and was startled to see Lt. Chandran himself standing there, with Ben and Finbar behind him. Lt. Chandran was wearing his full dress uniform as well, though the others were in ordinary fatigues. Even more surprising, Lt. Chandran seemed to have a bottle of wine under his arm. John’s night was looking up.

“I apologize for the presence of the observers, John. However it seems that no-one on this unit knew what I was proposing for this heat, so I have come to demonstrate. The observers will not accompany us into the tent, but I am confident they will acquire some inspiration from what they are allowed to observe of our date. If you are ready, shall we walk?”

Lt. Chandran offered John his arm. John took it, with a rather self-conscious giggle. It felt a little odd to be so formal and yet it was exactly the kind of change of pace John had been hoping for. Even if they all knew how this ‘date’ would end, it was very nice to be wooed.

They sauntered through the camp to the mess hall which was practically deserted at this time of the evening. Lt. Chandran pulled out a chair for John and seated him at a table for two. He waved Ben and Finbar to another table a few metres away.

“Don’t cramp my style, boys,” he said with a wink. He obtained two wine glasses and poured for John and himself. He sipped from his glass and sighed happily. “These role-play heats were always my favourite, in fact. And not just because I get an excuse to break out a bottle of wine either. I was a little disappointed when it appeared that you were never interested in them, but of course it is totally your choice how to run your heats.”

“It… it is?” said John.

Lt. Chandran frowned. “Of course. Who else should decide how you spend your heats? Surely your previous Lieutenant or Captain Spiers would never have presumed to dictate or pressure you as to how you behaved?”

“No…” replied John slowly. “Not really. I just got the impression that it was for bonding the unit together more than anything. There’s twelve of you and only one of me, so I guess I always thought of it as a ‘needs of the many’ situation. And I get my own ‘itch’ satisfied too, of course.”

“And did you never discuss it with the other Unit Omegas you know?” Lt. Chandran looked more curious than anything. “Although there is obviously no handbook on the topic, I had assumed that there would be a network of Omegas that would pass information around.”

“I don’t know.” John shrugged. “There may well be, but there’s only two other Omegas on the base and they are both flag flappers. I mean, based in Signals,” he corrected himself hastily. “They probably get together and chat and I know they cover each other for their heat leaves, but there are no other RAMC staff Omegas that I’m aware of. My heat leaves get covered by one of the medics from one of the other units on the base but they aren’t Omegas and I think they resent it a bit, actually. I don’t talk to them much about it. I try to avoid bringing attention to it, in fact. I get the distinct impression they think it is not a professional way for a doctor to relate to his unit.”

“Well,” the Lieutenant obviously decided to drop the topic. “What they think is hardly the point at issue tonight. This is about _you_ , and what you like. So, John,” the Lieutenant reached over and caressed his hand where it lay on the table. “What do you like?”

John blushed a little and was about to reply when his concentration on Lt. Chandran’s touch was broken by a snigger from the other table. Finbar was looking rather scornfully towards their linked hands.

“Is this what you really want, John?” he asked, disbelievingly. “You want hand holding, wine and flowers and _girly_ stuff? You want us to pretend to court you and then get down on one knee and offer you a collar? What’s the point? We all know where this is going to end up, you’re a sure thing. Don’t you want to just get to it?”

Ben smacked Finbar across the back of the head. “Ever heard the expression ‘the journey matters as much as the destination’? Just because you’re an unromantic git doesn’t mean the rest of us have to be. You don’t want to show John some appreciation for a change? You can just miss out!”

The mood was broken and John started to stand up. “He’s right. This is silly. Heats are just a biological itch that needs to be scratched. The frills don’t matter.” Even as he said it, he could feel the tears pricking at the back of his eyes. This evening had begun so well, but he had feared exactly this – that they saw him just as a body for their pleasure. Once the pheromones took over he could have been anybody and it would all be the same. Although he knew, had always known, that no serious feelings were involved, still it was nice to be courted and to feel like he had a choice and that they respected him. Now the illusion was over.

Lt. Chandran turned and glared at Finbar. “Shut the fuck up!” he hissed. They all started at the unusual profanity from their usually rather formal Lieutenant. “Do you seriously think the only needs of an Omega are for emotionless shagging? Or anyone, for that matter? Then shut up and grow up. If you ever expect to find a bondmate or even a serious partner then you need to realize that adult relationships involve a whole lot more than just sex, even great sex. Got it?”

Finbar nodded sheepishly. “Can I still stay?”

Lt. Chandran sat down again and nodded to John. “It’s up to John. Tonight is about what he wants. Ask him, and I suggest starting with an apology.”

Finbar turned inhis seat to face John, then changed his mind. He stood up, came to attention and saluted. When he spoke his voice was soft, but formal and sincere. “Captain Watson, I’m very sorry that I interrupted your date and required Lieutenant Chandran to give me a lecture. It won’t happen again. I would appreciate it if you would let me stay and continue to observe,” he gave a rather embarrassed smile. “It is obvious that I have a lot to learn.”

John snorted through his nose at the last line. “Fine. Sit, Be quiet and you might learn something. Lt. Chandran here has pulling skills you can only dream of.”

The Lieutenant smiled and drew John’s attention back to himself. “As I was saying, tonight is about you, John. I have a suggestion that I’d like you to think about.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. John was not sure if this was to prevent his words from being overhead at the next table or to create intimacy. Either way, it was working for him.

“I’d like to issue a challenge to the Marines. Each of them is to create a scenario for their date with you. They may slip you a piece of paper beforehand or just surprise you. I was thinking of making it a little competition for them, in which you would decide the winning scenario. How does that sound?”

John took a sip of wine and mulled over the idea. “As long as I get to veto anything too barmy. I don’t want to be tied up and whipped, or rogered with a gun or anything weird like that.”

“No, no. These are _dates_ , not a ‘who can think of the most kinky way to get a leg over’ competition. I’ll make it clear when I explain the challenge. Or maybe we should ask all of them to write down their ideas on paper and give you a chance to veto them beforehand? Would that make you more comfortable?”

“Oh, I think that would spoil the surprise. Let’s go with it.”

“Very well.” Lt. Chandran finished off his glass of wine. If you are ready, I think we can take these glasses with us and return them later. Let’s walk.”

They strolled back through the camp, taking their time and admiring the stars. The sky had much less light pollution than in London, so there were more stars visible than John was used to seeing. It was a beautiful evening but starting to get chilly, so John was glad when they finally arrived at the heat tent. The cold air on his flushed skin was becoming decidedly unpleasant.

Lt. Chandran held the tent flap open for him, then turned to Ben and Finbar with a little smile. “Clear off, boys. That’s it for the dating lesson. I’m sure you’ve got the idea, so you can go start thinking of what you will do when it is your turn to take John on a date. And if I find you listening outside the tent flap I’ll box your ears!”

The other two Marines laughed and left, though John thought he heard Finbar muttering something along the lines of, “It’s a tent, yanno, we can hear straight through it…”

Once inside, John had rather expected that they would head straight for the bed, but Lt. Chandran did not seem in a hurry. John peeled out of his jacket as soon as they were inside. His shirt was already starting to stick to his back with his heat sweat. As soon as he did so, he was aware of his pheromones rising and being trapped in the tent. This place would become like a sex sauna fairly soon. The Lieutenant did not seem to notice, or more likely just refrained from commenting. He was pouring another glass of wine for each of them, though he only half filled his own.

John kicked off his shoes, but carefully placed his hat on the bedside table. He bounced a little on his heels to test the floor of the tent. Was it padded? It seemed rather softer than he would have expected. He rummaged in the top drawer of the bedside table. It contained lube, condoms, a box of tissues and a vibrator. Someone had thought of everything.

“Please John, sit down. Join me at the table and let’s drop the ranks and titles. More wine?” Chandran gestured to the glass he had poured out.

“You don’t need to get me drunk to have your way with me, you know.” John replied.

“I know.” Chandran smiled easily. “Don’t fret, we’ll get there. I thought you were looking for a change of pace. ‘Slow’ would be a change of pace for you, I think.”

“It is.” John admitted. “It just feels a little… odd, you know? I’ve never really been courted or taken on dates like this before.”

“Forgive me if the question is intrusive, and of course you may choose not to answer, but didn’t some Alphas take you on dates when you were in university or before you joined the army?”

“Mmm, a few, yes. But medical students never have any money. The class schedule is very busy with pracs and labs and the contact hours are high, so most of us only work over the summer. Most of my previous dates consisted of coffee and snogging in the park, which is free of course.” John shrugged. “It was what everyone else was doing. My internship and residency at St Bart’s were mostly shift work – I knew even then that I wanted to be a surgeon and the quickest road is to accept lots of night shifts. Then I went into the army and became a Unit Omega soon after. Somehow after that I never felt the inclination for dating – I guess the Unit Alphas fulfill most of those needs for me.”

“Most,” agreed Chandran, “but clearly not all. Hmmm, I wonder why the Captain never suggested this to you? I had wondered that you seemed a little tired and tense lately, but I’m neither a doctor nor someone who knows you as well as most here on the unit, so I hesitated to mention it.”

“I don’t know,’ said John, although he suddenly suspected that perhaps he did. The Captain had made it clear that he was not interested in bonding with John, and perhaps a one-on-one dating scenario would be a little too intimate. Perhaps he felt John would make some kind of embarrassing display of sentiment. Well, he need not worry – that was never going to happen. John had his head together now.

“Well, anyway, we’re here now,” rejoined Chandran brightly. “I hope you enjoyed the wine and the walk?”

“Yes, it was the most romantic thing I’ve done for… ever really,” said John.

“Then perhaps you might like to finish your glass of wine on my lap?” suggested Chandran. “And I’m sure we can think of something to do afterwards…”

John climbed into his lap and breathed warmly in his ear. “I’m ever so grateful for your care of me tonight, sir. How ever can I show you my appreciation? May I kiss you?” Without waiting for a reply, John took a small mouthful of his wine. He leaned in for a kiss, opening his mouth slightly to let the wine trickle across from his mouth into Chandran’s. They exchanged a few more kisses and mouthfuls of wine until John was dizzy. He wasn’t sure if it was from the alcohol or the lack of oxygen. He pulled back for a moment to catch his breath.

Chandran groaned, “Oh John, that tastes so good. Crisp white wine and your sweet Omega taste is just a delightful combination.”

“Do I taste sweet? What do I taste like to you?” John asked.

“Vanilla, mostly,” said Chandran, “And a trace of something spicy, like chilli.”

“Mmmm,” murmured John. “Matt used to say my scent reminded him of cinnamon cheesecake.”

“I don’t like cheesecake, though. And I definitely like you. Oh, John, you smell so good I just want to bite you.” Chandran was nuzzling at his neck.

John froze. This was taking intimacy and trust to a whole new level and he wasn’t sure he was comfortable with it.

“May I bite you John, please? Not a bond bite, not that deep, just a little mark? I want to taste you to see if you taste as good as you smell.”

“OK, I trust you. Just a mark, not a deep bite though.”

Chandran didn’t answer. He was scenting along John’s collarbones and neck. He gently mouthed along John’s shoulder before settling on a point about half-way between the base of John’s neck and the point of his shoulder. He was well away from the base of the neck, where the bond-bite would usually be made. He leaned forward to access the muscle at the back of the shoulder before biting down firmly. John gasped, but Chandran was careful and did not break the skin. John would have a sizable bruise, but there was no risk of blood and saliva mingling in the amounts needed to form a permanent bond.

“Mine.” Chandran was growling. “Mine, and I want to bed you now. Can I take you now, John? Fill you and make you completely mine?”

John nodded and leaned his head to rest against Chandran’s shoulder. He felt himself being picked up and carried over to the bed. He was laid gently on his back, but he was surprised to find that Chandran did not intend to take him immediately. He leaned over John, positioned conveniently between his legs, but he took care to stroke John’s cock several times until the lubrication was pouring out of John in his eagerness.

“I’m ready,” murmured John. “Take me now, please, make me yours. Fill me with your seed and knot me all night long.”

Chandran groaned wordlessly at this encouragement and slid into John in one long stroke. They were both panting with the intensity of their connection and overwhelming sensation of being together. Then Chandan started to thrust into John, and the friction was delicious. His tip was stroking John’s sweet spot deep inside and John’s little gasps and whines made them both speed up their movements. They were rutting together fast and hard now, and John made a little rolling motion with his hips that was driving Chandran into a frenzy. He rammed himself into John as hard as he could, determined that John was going to come first.

“Yes, like that, right there,” John gritted out between his teeth. “Oh, God, that’s so good. Just a little more…” Then John was screaming and spurting all over both of them. The contractions of his body rhythmically gripping Chandran’s cock caused him to groan and spill his seed into John’s body. They both held still for a moment, enjoying the aftershocks and the feeling of pleasurable pressure as Chandran’s knot inflated inside John to hold them together.

“Well…” said John slowly. “I don’t usually sleep with someone on the first date. But since we are now knotted I guess _not_ sleeping together isn’t really an option.”

Chandran chuckled. “I’m very comfortable here, so if it works for you I believe we can come to a very happy arrangement.”

“Mmmm,” was John’s only reply. Then he was asleep.

# # # # # # # # # #

On the fourth evening, as his heat was ending, John stood up at the front of the conference room and raised his hands for silence. “Thank you all for your attention, and for your attentions during my last heat. I have very much enjoyed the last four days.” He had to pause for a moment to let the enthusiastic applause die down.

“I will now present the prizes for your innovative dating scenarios! Third prize goes to Finbar for his picnic under the stars and starwatching evening, including a very pleasant episode on the picnic blanket.” Everyone whistled and applauded. “I did have to take off a few points because I suspect he got part of his idea from the Lieutenant, but his action plan was flawlessly executed. Well done.” Finbar came up to the front of the room, blushing and ducking his head. John gave him a kiss and the bottle of beer that was his prize.

“Second prize goes to Ben, for his DVD and movie night, with popcorn. The first movie wasn’t even porn!”

Everyone laughed, and Joe called out, “But I bet the second one was!”

John winked and shrugged. “I wouldn’t know, I didn’t watch much of it.” Which of course just lead to more laughter and applause. Ben came up to collect his kiss and bottle of beer.

“First prize goes to…” John paused dramatically. “Bill! For his massage skills and the most creative use ever of chocolate sauce and almond massage oil!” This time there were interested and speculative looks along with the laughter and applause. “And first prize is… a bottle of beer!” Bill bowed theatrically as he came up and John rewarded him with his prize and a kiss.

“And finally, I would like to thank everyone for your enthusiastic participation in this little game. I have enjoyed it immensely and I hope you all have too. I have felt so appreciated and loved by all of you, I really mean it. Thank you for doing this for me, and going to so much trouble over it. Everyone gets a participation prize! A bottle of beer!” All the rest of the Marines laughed and flooded up to the front of the room to claim a kiss from John and a beer.

When all the Marines in the room had a bottle of beer in hand, there was one bottle left on the table. Before anyone else could note the absence of the Captain, John put down his own bottle and snatched it up. “One more prize, people! For his brilliant idea which lead to lots of interesting events, I would like to award one extra beer to Lt. Chandran for introducing a very exciting new element into our unit! I look forward to doing this again soon!” Everyone clapped this announcement with enthusiasm.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for more war action here, fighting and injuries, not in graphic detail. Sorry, but integral to the story. If you choose to skip this chapter I will once again quickly summarize at the start of the next.

John was in the loo when his pager went off. “Bloody pager, can’t get away from it even here!” He checked the message but most unhelpfully it was just an extension number without a message. “Bloody idiots can’t even learn to send a message properly through the computer system. Bloody using the bloody phones again…” he grumbled.

He wandered out to his desk and returned the call, ready to give a right reaming to whoever paged him with just a number and no message. However, the calm greeting at the other end forestalled him.

“Hello Captain Watson. Thank you for returning my call so promptly,” said a cool woman’s voice.

Shit. It was the RAMC Major on the base, John’s direct superior. She only ever called him when there was a problem. She was usually more of an email memo person.

“Major Velovska, what can I do for you?” John said, cautiously.

“There is a bit of a Situation with one of our patrols. I need you to go out there to assist with on the spot evaluation of wounds and to organize the evacuation of the injured.”

“That sounds bad. How many injured are there?” John was immediately concerned.

“It was a large manoeuvre, an entire platoon went out. Unfortunately the company medical officer was one of the first to be wounded, so the reports are all coming through the assistant medic who is clearly panicked and unable to manage the triage properly. I need you to go out there and do a proper assessment and make any necessary arrangements.”

“Right. I’m on it,” returned John without hesitation. “Will I have a driver? And should I take my own assistant medic?”

“That’s a very good suggestion, John.” The Major sounded unflatteringly surprised that John should have any good ideas. “By all means take your own assistant. The driver will call for you at your sick bay in five minutes. Keep me informed of your progress. Good luck, Captain.” She hung up without waiting for his answer.

John had no time to spare. He ran to the computer and sent an urgent message to Bill to meet him at the sick bay immediately. He then grabbed his medical kit and started stuffing in all the painkillers and bandages he could lay his hands on. Sixty men and just him to sort them all out. He would have crossed his fingers that the company Captain was still alive and at least securing the area, but he was too busy to waste fingers on such a forlorn hope.

# # # # # # # # # #

John and Bill arrived at the site to find it was more under control than John’s fears had lead him to expect. The ambush had been complete, and both the Captain and the First Lieutenant had been killed in the initial firefight. But the Second Lieutenant and the Senior Sergeant had rallied the survivors of the platoon very effectively and driven off the attacking guerillas. Casualties had been heavy, and with the damage to the vehicles they were pinned down out in the open. It was the kind of situation to make the back of John’s neck itchy – he could just about feel rifle sights on his back.

He reported in to the Second Lieutenant, “Captain Watson, medical corps, here to take over triage and medical care, sir!” It felt a bit odd to be calling such a young soldier ‘sir’ but if he was holding the platoon together and controlling the area every bit of respect was due to him and John was going to bolster his authority in any way he could.

“Lieutenant Cooper, current senior officer. I’m securing the area and calling for transport to complete the evacuation of the wounded, C-Captain.” He stumbled over the rank, clearly not used to having a Captain as a subordinate. His glance looked for confirmation that he was doing the right thing, and he seemed reassured by John’s subtle nod.

“Captain Watson, please take control of the wounded and triage,” he tilted his head towards the centre of the makeshift camp. “I am establishing a perimeter patrol and I hope to have the evacuation under way within the hour. Estimated time to complete evacuation is more than four hours, however, due to the number of wounded and terrain conditions.”

John’s brow furrowed with worry, but he saluted and said only, “Yes, sir.”

# # # # # # # # # #

Three hours later, John straightened up and stretched his back. Triage had been brutal for a while there, but the worst was over and into the next transport would go the last of the non-walking wounded. All things considered, it had gone better than he had expected. Bill had been a treasure, and worth at least three times the other assistant medic. John snorted internally and made a mental note to find out where he had trained and never to go there for medical care.

John scrubbed his hands over his face, hoping futilely to wipe away the weariness and grime. Not long to go, then he could head back to base himself and indulge in a hot shower. He swept his gaze once more around the edge of the camp, absently noting the passing patrols of the perimeter guards. There was one pair in the north, another pair patrolling to the east. The southern team were currently engaged in checking a vehicle about to enter the restricted area. John turned around to check to the west, staring directly into the setting sun. Which was why he did not recognize the attacking force for what it was for a few long moments. By the time he shouted a warning it was far too late.

The guerillas swept in from the west, straight out of the sun, overwhelming the perimeter guards easily. They smashed straight through into the centre of the camp, shooting everything that moved, then retreated as quickly as they had come. Clearly, their plan was to create as much damage as possible in as short a time as practicable. Anyone standing up or moving was a clear target, but they did not bother with those already incapacitated. Which was the only reason John survived.

During the initial attack John had shouted a warning, marking himself as a target. One of the guerillas had carelessly shot from the hip. He had been aiming for the centre of the chest, but the shot had gone slightly wide and taken John in the left shoulder instead. The impact had knocked him to the ground, stunned and bleeding as the rest of the guerillas swept past him and into the centre of the camp.

Bill had heard John’s cry and seen him go down. He was quick enough to hit the dirt himself, John’s yell had done at least that much good. In a few minutes the attack was over and the guerillas withdrawing. Bill ran to John, already unconscious and bleeding out all over the ground. Bill quickly wrapped a bandage around John’s torso and shoulder to control the blood loss. He then threw John over his shoulder and ran for the troop transport. Quickly but gently, he laid John in the last open space and shouted at the driver to gun the engine and get the wounded back to base. Then Bill turned to take over John’s work to finish the triage and evacuation of the new group of wounded. He had done his best for John, but could not afford to think further of him now. He needed to use the skills John had taught him to do the work as John would want it done.

# # # # # # # # # #

As the troop transports rolled into the base they were directed straight to the theatre complex. John’s pre-assessments of the wounded made everything orderly, though not straightforward. Only John himself arrived without a triage category and tag. Some minutes were lost in working out who he was and who should be told about him. In the absence of any members of his unit, Major Velovska was informed of the injury and need for surgery on a certain Captain John Watson. She signed the surgical consent form without looking at it, and John was taken into the operating theatre, still unconscious.

# # # # # # # # # #

Bill came back to base with the last troop transport, escorting the final group of wounded. As soon as the base medics arrived to take responsibility for the patients Bill set off at a run for Captain Spier’s office. He threw himself through the door without the formality of knocking.

“How is John?” he demanded.

Captain Spiers looked up from his endless paperwork, immediately attentive. “What do you mean? Wasn’t he was with you?”

Bill’s mouth dropped open. “You didn’t know? He was shot and returned to base about two hours ago.”

Captain Spiers turned pale, then red. “Let’s go. You can brief me on the way to the surgical suite.”

They left the office and set a double pace march for the hospital. On arrival, Captain Spiers lit a fire under the tail of the unfortunate Corporal at the desk of the surgical suite to find Captain John Watson and report on his status right now, dammit! John was quickly discovered to be out of surgery and in the recovery bay.

Captain Spiers marched straight into the recovery bay, overriding the feeble protests of the Corporal that he needed to change into theatre greens and that it isn’t permitted to just walk in there, sir! The Captain swept past and into the recovery area which was full of people in various states of awareness as they came out of anaesthesia.

Bill spotted John first, in Bay Four. He must have only recently come out of the operating theatre, as he was still unconscious and a nurse was sitting by his bedside closely monitoring his breathing.

“He’s over there, sir. Still asleep, I think.” Bill waved towards Bay Four.

“Thank God for that. At least he didn’t wake up alone,’ muttered Captain Spiers as he strode over to John’s bedside. He leaned over the bed and took John’s right hand in his own, careful not to jostle the cannula in the back of John’s hand. Only then did he turn to introduce himself to the nurse hovering uncertainly at the other side of the bed.

“Captain Peter Spiers, I’m John’s unit Captain. How is he?”

“Sir, he sustained a gunshot wound to the left upper chest and shoulder. The bullet was successfully retrieved and the contaminants removed from the wound but there was significant trauma to the shoulder and brachial plexus. After a few weeks of rehab and exercises we will know how much function he will retain in that arm.” The nurse looked down at him with pity in her eyes. “He’s lucky it was his left shoulder and arm, really. Otherwise an injury like this would be the end of his career.”

Captain Spiers sat down suddenly, managing not to lose contact with John’s hand. He closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again and glared at the nurse. “How much rehab until we know what use he will have of the arm?”

Bill added from over his shoulder, “He’s left-handed, you see.”

The nurse looked like she wanted to bite her tongue. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t realize. I think six to eight weeks would do it, but be aware we do not have the necessary rehab facilities here on the base. He’ll need to be transferred out. Under the circumstances, it might be best if he was sent home to complete his rehab back in England. Then, if it doesn’t go well…” she shrugged, not wanting to spell it out. “He would already be home and surrounded by his family and friends.”

Captain Spiers rested his forehead on the rail of the bed and closed his eyes. “I always knew I’d lose you one day, but not like this…”

Bill leaned down to hear better. “I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t quite catch that.”

Captain Spiers straightened up and opened his eyes, “Never mind. Find Lt. Chandran and tell him to organize a roster for the next five days. I want someone with John every minute while he is here. We will stand by him, night and day, right up until he boards the plane for home. And divert my pager to the Lieutenant as well. I’m staying with John until he wakes up.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who skipped the last chapter, John was wounded in action. He was shot in the left shoulder and carried unconscious from the field by Bill. We resume as he wakes up after surgery…

John slowly swam up from blackness to semi-consciousness. He heard voices he had trouble recognizing talking around and over him.

“He’s coming around now, but he’s still pretty out of it.”

 _You got that right_ , John thought to himself but he was unable to make any sign to the voices.

“I think it would be best if the Captain broke the news to him.”

“We’ll have someone with him from now until…”

“Good idea. Thanks for organizing that.”

“The guys all wanted to be here. The hard part was writing the roster to give everyone a ch…”

John finally managed to make a noise. The voices stopped talking to each other. One of them leaned in close to talk to him. “Are you in any pain, John?”

As soon as the voice drew his attention to it, he realized that his left shoulder was red bleeding agony which stabbed him through the chest every time he breathed.

“Ugh…” he managed, and paid the price for that small noise with more pain racking his body.

The voice seemed to understand, as he felt a cold liquid being injected into the back of his right hand, then the blackness swept over him again.

# # # # # # # # # #

He was running across a desert, being chased by a terrorist with a gun. He was running, but he looked down and saw that his leg was broken. Daniel was running beside him, saying “I did it, you can do it too.” But he couldn’t. He fell and the pain in his shoulder was immense and he couldn’t run anymore…

Then the guerilla fighter was standing over him and he was Jack and he was about to be shot in the head…

Darkness took him again, and this time it was a relief.

# # # # # # # # # #

John became aware of his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth. It took him two tries to make a noise, but somehow he knew there was someone else in the room. If only he could make a sound, maybe the someone would bring him water? Ah, yes. He could hear someone moving, probably leaning over his bed. He tried to pry open his gummy eyes, but whimpered as the bright light stabbed into his head. He closed them again.

“John?” He thought the voice might be Joe’s. “John? Water?”

It was definitely Joe. He felt a straw being held to his lips and he sucked the water down gratefully. Christ, his lips were dry. How long had he been unconscious?

“John, can you open your eyes?”

He wondered why Joe sounded so worried. Of course he could open his eyes, only the light was so bright he didn’t really want to.

“John, please open your eyes.” Joe sounded like he was begging, so John did his best to oblige.

The room was white, the sheets were white. A hospital room then. John blinked hard and tried to focus. Yes, that was Joe, looking rather rumpled and non-regulation. Unusual. He also looked rather tired and stressed. There was a discarded rifle magazine on the table. How long had Joe been waiting for him to wake up? Several hours, at least, by the look of it.

Joe leaned over and pressed the buzzer for the nurse, then focused again on John. “Three Continents Watson! Good to have you back. We thought for a while you might be going somewhere without us.”

John searched his memory. Three Continents Watson. It was a joke name, and he needed to remember the correct response. Ah, yes, there it was.

“Little John” he whispered, and was surprised when Joe burst into tears.

# # # # # # # # # #

Later that day Captain Spiers and Dr Aasif stood formally at the end of John’s bed, both of them in postures that radiated discomfort. Bill had been reading to John when they arrived, so he also stayed.

Dr Aasif pasted on a smile and said, “Captain Watson, good to have you back.”

John coughed and cleared his throat. “Yes, everyone keeps saying that, but no-one has given me a straight answer as to why. How long was I unconscious anyway?”

Dr Aasif replied, “You were brought from the field unconscious and required four units of blood to be transfused during surgery. Getting out the bullet was the easy part. The hard part was cleaning out the bits of uniform and half the sand in the desert which had been rubbed into the wound.”

Bill made a noise of protest.

Dr Aasif waved away the objection, “Oh, I know, it was a messy situation and everyone did their best. But the fact of the matter is that it was a heavily contaminated wound and it has been badly infected. We’ve been pumping you full of antibiotics for over a week now, so I’m glad to see you are finally in your right mind again.”

“A week?” gasped John.

“Eight days, actually,” replied Dr Aasif. “Three in intensive care, another five in this isolation room. We’ve been pretty worried about you. You’ve been febrile and delirious for most of it, so I’m not surprised you don’t remember.”

“But… But I’m going to be OK now? I’m better now, aren’t I?” John looked to Dr Aasif for confirmation, but he wasn’t meeting John’s eyes.

“John, you very nearly died. If that bullet had been a few centimetres lower it would have been in your heart and even Bill’s heroic efforts to get you back would have done no good.”

John clenched his right fist, but the left only twitched, and John realized he already knew what Dr Aasif was going to say.

“There was major injury to the brachial nerve plexus. I’m not sure how much function you are going to get back in your left hand. Now that you are awake we can begin to assess how much sensation and muscle movement you are going to have.”

John gritted his teeth. “You mean that after intensive physio I might be able to zip my own trousers, is that it? Christ, I can’t feel anything in that hand at all!” John started hyperventilating. Bill tried to put his hand on John’s good shoulder, but was shrugged off angrily.

“This is the end of my career in the army, the end of my hopes of being a civilian surgeon even! Bloody hell, I might not even be able to be a doctor at all if I can’t write or anything. Oh, my God, I’m going to be discharged and sent home to _rot_ , aren’t I?”

Captain Spiers put his hand out placatingly, “John, please try to stay calm.”

“Stay calm! This is the end of my life and you know it! You’ve probably already requested another medic to replace me in the unit, haven’t you?”

Captain Spiers looked dismayed. “John, it’s not like that. It has been over a week and we didn’t know how long you would be out of action. I had to make sure the unit has a new medic for when we move out.”

“Who is it? Is it someone I know?”

Captain Spiers lifted his chin. “It isn’t necessary for you to hear all the details. I think it will just upset you.”

John narrowed his eyes. “Is it another _Omega_?”

Captain Spiers sighed. “If you must know, yes. Captain Kate Simpson is flying across to join us from the peacekeeping force in Egypt.”

John did some calculations in his head. “You’ve already got orders cut to move, haven’t you?”

Captain Spiers nodded. “Two days. She arrives tomorrow and we move out the day after. John, I’m sorry.”

“Not half as sorry as I am.” John lay back on his pillows and sighed at the ceiling. “All right, give me the rest of the bad news."

Dr Aasif shuffled his feet and looked uncomfortable. "As you know, your contraceptive implant was in that shoulder too. There was a... er... complication with it."

At John's aghast expression Dr Aasif hastened to explain. "You're not pregnant!"

John sighed with relief. "Thank Christ for that. I trust you've put another one in?"

"Oh yes, but still, the situation... you'd better read the pathology report in full to decide what it means for your future."

"Yes, my future, let's talk about that. What is going to happen to me now?”

Dr Aasif cleared his throat and resumed speaking, “John, you need at least six to eight weeks of rehabilitation and physiotherapy before we will know how much function you will regain in your left arm. Of course, as an army veteran you will be entitled to receive the best care available. Unfortunately, that will mean sending you back to England…”

“A _veteran_?” John interrupted. “So I _am_ being discharged because of this? Even before the rehab is complete?”

Dr Aasif was avoiding John’s eyes. “John, it was your dominant hand that was injured. Given the nature of the nerve damage, even the best case scenario does not include resuming your work with the medical corps. I understand they are contemplating giving you a medal, for being wounded in action.”

John snorted. “Great. A piece of metal to hang on my jacket to explain why I was sent home. Just what I fucking wanted for Christmas.”

Captain Spiers looked closely at John, and realized that he had had as much as he could take for one day. He jerked his head towards the door, and Bill and Dr Aasif made a hasty exit.

Captain Spiers took Bill’s seat by John’s bedside. John refused to look at him.

Finally, John broke the silence with bitter recriminations. “I can’t believe you replaced me while I was unconscious. You went through the available personnel files and chose someone to replace me while I was fucking unconscious! Did you wait until I was off the operating table, or did you start looking at prospective Omegas as soon as you heard I’d been wounded and wouldn’t be a pretty piece of tail anymore?”

Captain Spiers gasped as if John had slapped him. “That’s not fair, you know it isn’t. The unit needs a medic urgently and, as you know, this unit operates well with an Omega in the team. One was available, so I asked for her to be assigned here. If you recover, you can request reassignment back here and I’ll support any such application.”

“Ha. A safe offer, since we both know that isn’t going to happen.”

“John. Is this about your career in the RAMC, or about what you mean to us personally?” Captain Spiers spoke softly. “Your career has been exemplary, you will get a medal for this and an honourable discharge. Your army pension will be generous and you will be medically provided for as long as you need medical care, of any kind.”

John finally turned his face to Captain Spiers, but his tortured eyes almost made the Captain wish he hadn’t. “No, that’s not what is bothering me. Am I going to be so easily replaced? I’m gone less than a week and already you’ve found someone else to warm your bed – is that all I am to you? Just another Omega in a long line of pleasant memories?”

Captain Spiers reached over and stroked John’s cheek with a fingertip. “You have no idea that you broke my heart and spoiled me for any other Omega, do you?”

John gaped at him. “ _I_ broke _your_ heart? I think you got that backwards.”

Captain Spiers gave a painful little smile. “No, I said then and I repeat now that you never really loved _me_. You loved the idea of being bonded to one Alpha but honestly now, it could just as easily have been Bill or Matt or Chandran, couldn’t it?”

John shrugged but declined to answer the question.

The Captain continued, “But you were on your knees in front of me, begging me with tears in your eyes to bond with you. You were so beautiful, you still are, and young and dynamic and I could hardly believe that you were asking me, an old soldier, to bond with you. It took every grain of self-control I ever possessed to refuse you. And I never came to you alone in your heats after that, I always brought another member of the unit. I was so afraid I would forget myself and ask you to bond with me after all.”

“Why?” cried John. “Would bonding me have been so terrible?”

“No, it would have been glorious and I would have loved and pleased you as much as I could for as long as I could.” Captain Spiers paused for a moment and shook his head. “But it wouldn’t have been enough for you. You would have grown tired of this life, tired of the army and tired of me. You would have grown to hate me, and hate the cage I had put you in by bonding you. John, I loved you too much to bond you and keep you with me. I wanted to, so very much, but I didn’t want you to hate me. I knew you would need to leave us one day, and I wanted it to be without guilt or broken promises for either of us.”

There was silence in the room for a moment. Then John asked, “This new Omega, what is she like?”

Captain Spiers spoke quietly, “For all our sakes, I looked for someone different from you. It will be hard enough for her to step into this position without constant comparison with you. She’s a female Omega, tall and red-headed with an Irish background, I believe. She’s about ten years older than you and has served as a Unit Omega before, so she knows what she’s getting into.”

John digested this information slowly. “Very well, I accept her as my replacement. I trust she will look after you all now that I’m… going away.”

Captain Spiers reached over and clasped John’s right hand in his. “John, this is an opportunity for you. Go back to England with hope – you still have your whole life before you, with useful work to do and your own Alpha to find. I have no doubt there is an Alpha out there for you who will bond you and make you whole and happy in a way that our unit and army life never could. Look for someone who will heal you and love you for everything that you are.” Captain Spiers winked at John. “And when you find him, tell him I hate him, the jammy bastard.”

John punched him weakly in the arm. “That’s my future husband you’re talking about. Get out of here already. Don’t you have someone to go bust down to Private?”

Captain Spiers stood up, “Sure do. I’ll go take care of that, you take care of yourself.” It was incorrect military courtesy, but he saluted John before he left anyway.

# # # # # # # # # #

In the last days before they all departed, every member of the unit came past John’s room to say their goodbyes in their own particular ways. Lt Chandran was serious and formal, Ben made a stand-up comedy routine, Bill was earnest, and everyone told John that no-one would ever forget him. Even Captain Kate Simpson came by to meet him and shake his hand before the unit left.

Then it was John’s turn to leave. He packed up his regulation duffle bag and boarded his flight back to England. On the plane, he turned his back to the other soldiers celebrating their home leaves. Their happiness to be going home was only because they knew they would be coming back. He had no such return to look forward to. His life was moving on to a new and bleaker place. Nothing could ever replace his unit in his heart. Nothing could ever replace his career in the RAMC and as a Unit Omega. Nothing worth living for would ever happen to him again. He turned his face to the window and watched the base recede until it was blurred either by distance or by all the salt water standing in his eyes.


	13. Chapter 13 - Enter Sherlock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back in London…

John limped out of the Royal Hospital Chelsea cursing his shoulder, his leg, his physiotherapist, his Captain of Invalids and most of all his own status as an in-pensioner.The military tone maintained at the Royal Hospital was supposed to remind all the ex-military residents of the cameraderie of their service days. For John, it grated on his nerves to be reminded of what he had once had and would never have again, and his sense of displacement was made worse by the fact that he was the youngest resident by at least a decade. They allowed him to keep his gun, and it was reassuring to clean and oil it sometimes, almost a meditative exercise, but the meals in the dining hall reminded him too forcibly of how he was alone despite the crowd.

It was all very well having bed, board and medical care all in the one place, but he resolved to trade it all immediately for his army pension as cash in hand and freedom to choose his own hours.  His discharge papers were still in their envelope, unopened. He didn't want to read the final details of his injury, not even couched in the flowery terms usually used for someone who had been awarded a medal. He had shoved the envelope to the bottom of his bag and tried to forget about it. Perhaps it was time to exercise the freedom that came with those papers.

Anyway, his physiotherapist was useless. He kept massaging up and down his right leg and claiming there was nothing wrong with the muscle. Last session he even had the gall to suggest to John that perhaps his pain was ‘stress related’ which everyone medical understood was just a delicate way of saying it was all in his head.

Speaking of useless, his psychologist was trying to encourage him to keep a diary. How stupid. As if anyone in this day and age would write a diary. He had established a blog for himself, but after fiddling with the background picture, font and colours he hadn’t actually got around to writing anything yet.

The final item on his list of useless for the day was his sister, Harry. He spent several minutes cursing her too. She had come to visit him at the Royal Hospital, of course. She had been suitably impressed with his Military Cross and seemed to think that he would wear it on his pyjamas. He did not have the heart to tell her that for practical purposes it was useless too, as it would neither help him get a job nor could he sell it for enough cash for somewhere to live. Harry understood this comment for the hint that it was, and immediately started making excuses for why she could not offer him a place to live. Her current situation with the divorce, her own finances so unsettled, this seemed like a nice place to live anyway, etc. But she could give him her old phone, and then when he was settled somewhere he could call and they could meet for a drink…

Johnn snorted to himself. Meeting Harry for a drink seemed like a spectacularly bad idea under the circumstances. Harry was obviously drinking too much as it was, probably the stress of the divorce, and John had no idea of following the same path, tempting though it sometimes seemed to use alcohol to get away from it all. No, he would settle for coffee, preferably without Harry.

He turned into his favourite local coffee shop, the Criterion, a settled down to chew over his problems. Money, money and yes, money. He needed a job and somewhere to live. But in order to get a job he would need suitable non-uniform clothes and an address that didn’t scream _wounded war veteran_. In order to get both he would need money. London had always been an expensive place to live and his army pension would not allow him to afford his own place, he couldn’t live with Harry or they’d kill each other, so how to get a job? He was going around his hamster wheel of thoughts for about the fifth time when a voice dragged him out of his useless fretting.

“John! John Watson!”

He looked up to see a fat man he didn’t recognize standing in front of him.

“Mike Stamford, from Bart’s. You emailed me, oh, ages ago now, but I didn’t know you were in town.”

John started to climb to his feet. “Yes, sorry, yes, Mike, of course. Thanks for your help.”

Mike waved off his thanks. “I didn’t really have anything much to say, just sent you some links. But anyway, how long are you here? Do you have time for lunch?”

Time? John had nothing but time.

# # # # # # # # # #

Over lunch John heard about Mike’s wife and children, his mediocre career in both teaching and medicine at St Bart’s, and his current favourite hobby which was edible gardens. He had an amazing amount to say on the subject.

In return, John told a few adventure stories from his time in the service, gave a glossed-over version of his injury, medal presentation and return to London, and spoke very briefly about Harry. He did not speak at all about his role as a Unit Omega, as he wasn’t sure what Mike would make of that. He was a civilian, after all.

John consciously tried to keep upbeat and talked hopefully about finding a job somewhere in London. His nascent hope that Mike might be able to help him get a job at St Bart’s was starting to fade as he realized that Mike himself was stuck in the middle of the academic hierarchy with little influence.

As their conversation progressed, they came around again to the cost of living in London. John was sighing over the prospect of having to move elsewhere, as even his full army pension would not allow him to afford a flat of his own, let alone one within striking distance of St Bart’s if he ever managed to get a job there.

Mike said, “Couldn’t Harry help?”

John rolled his eyes. “Yeah, like _that’s_ gonna happen.” He didn’t really want to discuss with Mike the fact that he’d already asked.

Mike shrugged. “I dunno – get a flatshare or something?”

John looked down at his cane, his trembling and weak left hand and thought about his PTSD nightmares. “Come on,” he said. “Who’d want _me_ for a flatmate?”

Mike chuckled. “You’re the second person to say that to me today.”

John looked at him curiously. “Who was the first?”

It was Mike’s turn to roll his eyes. “He’s a real character. Works at St Barts. Or at least, spends a lot of time there. I don’t think he’s actually on the staff, now I come to think of it.”

“Not a doctor then?” John asked.

“No, he’s a chemist by training, though to be honest I don’t know exactly what he does when he’s not in the lab. Anyway, though a lot of people don’t like him, I’ve never seen any real harm in him. He’s just a bit eccentric, that’s all.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter. It’s just a flat-share. It’s not like we have to be best friends or anything. It will be purely a financial arrangement.”

Mike hesitated. “There’s just one other thing you should know. He’s an Alpha. How would you feel about living with a strange unbonded Alpha? And I do mean _strange_.”

John chewed his lip. “It’s not ideal, I agree. But I can’t afford to be picky. I need to get out of the Royal Hospital before I go stark staring mad. Can you introduce us?”

“Sure, now if you like. He was in the lab this morning and if he runs true to form he’ll probably still be there. I should be heading back myself.”

“Fine, let’s go.”

# # # # # # # # # #

John followed Mike into the lab at St Bart’s. He gave a surreptitious glance around and couldn’t help being impressed. The equipment was modern and new, the lab was well-lit and had that particular lack of scent which comes from very powerful laminar airflow airconditioning. The hospital had obviously come into some money since John had trained there.

“Bit different from my day,” he couldn’t help observing.

Mike chuckled in response. “You have no idea.”

Eschewing the formality of an introduction or indeed, any kind of greeting at all. The man sitting at the microscope held out his hand and said, “Mike, can I borrow your phone?”

While Mike made his excuses, John took the opportunity to examine the stranger. He was tall, much taller than John, that was obvious even while he was sitting down. He was also whippet thin and slightly pale with that unhealthy _lives indoors under fluorescent lights too much_ look. His hair was dark, curly and a trifle longer than currently fashionable. He sat up very straight, and his body language was not obviously either Alpha or Omega. He also had no apparent scent, which John found oddly disturbing, but it was also possibly just a side-effect of the strong air-conditioning. John needed to get closer to get a good mouthful of scent and a better idea of this man, preferably before the subject of the flat-share came up. He’d rather run a quick reconnaissance of the stranger before committing to live with him.

Sensing an opening in the conversation, John stepped past Mike and offered his phone instead, saying, “Here, use mine.” Under the cover of the motion he tried to get closer for a better scent, but the man simply reached out and took the phone and turned away, starting to type out a text.

Mike belatedly added, “An old friend of mine, John Watson.”

The man was still furiously typing on the phone, but he glanced up long enough to ask, “Afghanistan or Iraq?”

John, startled, replied, “Afghanistan. Sorry, how did you know…?”

Before the man could answer, someone else interrupted their conversation. It was one of the lab workers by her white coat, but even more obviously she was an Omega who was desperately trying to attract the man’s attention. She reeked of Omega pheromones, both natural and artificially augmented, and she was carrying a cup of coffee for him. John watched with interest as she approached the man – this would be a good test of this Alpha’s self-control. If John could smell it, this man should be just about compelled to roll the girl right here on the floor. John was almost blushing in anticipation of the heated flirting he was about to witness.

The man handed back John’s phone and looked at the new arrival. Without a trace of hesitation or embarrassment he only said, “Ah, Molly. Coffee, thank you.” He took the mug from her and turned away.

John was surprised, and rather impressed. If he had enough self-control to resist such obvious temptation from an unbonded Omega making a blatant play for him, then perhaps it would be possible for John to live in the same flat with him. John’s day was looking up, though he felt sorry for the girl. Her desperation was almost embarrassing to witness. John was glad that she left again immediately.

The man took a sip of the coffee, made a face at the taste and put it down in favour of pinning John with a stare from his strange light-coloured eyes. “How do you feel about the violin?” he asked.

John was getting the distinct feeling he was at least two steps behind the main part of this conversation. The only response he could manage was “I’m sorry, what?”

The stranger was now typing again on his computer. “I play the violin when I’m thinking. Sometimes I don’t talk for days on end. Would that bother you? Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other.”

John was annoyed now. Mike should not have pre-empted the discussion by telling the stranger about him. What if John had scented him and found him totally incompatible? What if he had been the kind of Alpha who would jump on any unbonded Omega? He didn’t appear to be, but Mike had no right to talk about it beforehand. John frowned at him repressively. “You told him about me?”

Mike denied it, of course. “Not a word.”

John then challenged the man directly. “Who said anything about flatmates?” He still hadn’t had the chance to scent the other man properly and it was getting on his nerves.

“I did.” The man replied bluntly. “Told Mike this morning I must be a difficult man to find a flatmate for. Now here he is just after lunch with an old friend, clearly just home from military service in Afghanistan. Wasn’t that difficult a leap.”

Reminded of his earlier question, John asked it again. “How did you know about Afghanistan?”

The man declined to answer, picking up his scarf and apparently preparing to leave. “Got my eye on a nice little place in central London. Together we ought be able to afford it. We’ll meet there tomorrow evening, seven o’clock.” Then without any further explanation he headed for the door.

John was seriously pissed off now. Alpha or not, this man was being far too high-handed for John’s taste. Bristling, he spat, “Is that it?”

The man appeared genuinely confused. “Is that what?”

John started to list his concerns. “We don’t know a thing about each other, I don’t know where we are meeting, I don’t even know your name!” He didn’t mention the increasingly weird lack of scent cues which were making his hair stand on end. No point making personal remarks, and maybe they could work it out when they met at the flat.

The other man paused and appeared to consider John’s objections. Then he made an astonishing speech. “I know you’re an Army doctor and you’ve been invalided home from Afghanistan. I know you’ve got a brother who’s worried about you but you won’t go to him for help because you don’t approve of him – possibly because he’s an alcoholic, more likely because he recently walked out on his wife. And I know that your therapist thinks your limp’s psychosomatic – quite correctly, I’m afraid. That’s enough to be going on with don’t you think?”

With that, he walked out the door leaving a flabbergasted John to stare across the lab at an equally surprised Mike. But before either of them could say anything, the stranger stuck his head around the door again and said, “The name is Sherlock Holmes, and the address is 221B Baker Street.” He gave a rather familiar wink, and was gone.

John stared at Mike in disbelief. Mike shrugged and said, “Yeah, he’s always like that.”

John asked, “Are you sure he’s an Alpha? He seemed more like a Beta to me. He took absolutely no notice of that female Omega who was here earlier, which seems odd.”

Mike shrugged again. “I’m a Beta myself, so I didn’t really notice. So, are you going to meet him at the flat?”

It was John’s turn to shrug. “I guess so. I’ve got nothing to lose but my time, and as I said before I’ve got plenty of that. Besides, I’m desperate enough to get out of the Royal Hospital that unless he keeps severed heads in the fridge, I’ll probably take the flat with him.”

Mike laughed. “Oh, I don’t think he’s that bad.”

# # # # # # # # # # # #

John met Sherlock as had been arranged, at 221B Baker St the following evening. Sherlock introduced him to the landlady, a motherly Beta widow named Mrs Hudson. The flat itself seemed nice enough though John noted with disapproval that Sherlock seemed to have moved in a lot of equipment in a most unmilitary disorder. In the closer quarters of the flat, John had finally managed to get a hint of Sherlock’s natural Alpha scent. Fortunately, it was quite compatible with his own. The scent was elusive, John was having difficulty describing it. Usually Alphas were fruity or floral scents, occasionally herbal, but Sherlock’s didn’t seem to fit any of those categories. It was like cherries, but ones that had been marinated in rum or brandy to mellow them. Without getting inappropriately obvious John wasn’t going to be able to pin it down any closer than that. Not that it mattered, as long as it wasn’t too strongly acidic John could manage.

They had just agreed to take the place when a police officer burst in on them to demand Sherlock go to a crime scene with him. The Alpha officer didn’t bother to give his name, and though they obviously knew each other Sherlock didn’t introduce him. Then, just like that, Sherlock was gone again. He threw a “Don’t wait up!” over his shoulder and left.

John sighed and picked up the newspaper. Mrs Hudson offered a cup of tea and he accepted absently. Was this going to be his life now? Reading the paper over a cup of tea while other people ran out and did useful work without him? He stared resentfully at his right leg, for which no-one was able to find a diagnosis to explain his pain. It had been Daniel’s right leg injury which had retired him from active service too, John reflected.

His thoughts were interrupted by Sherlock reappearing in the doorway. “You’re a doctor.” He said, thoughtfully. “In fact, you’re an army doctor.”

John wondered if he was going to ask any awkward questions about being an Omega in the army, but decided not to bring it up just yet. They hardly knew each other after all. If Sherlock wanted that kind of personal information he was going to have to ask for it. He restricted himself to answering the question. “Yes.”

“Any good?”

John rolled his eyes internally at the typical Alpha arrogance but he met it head-on. “ _Very_ good.”

“Seen a lot of injuries then, violent deaths.” It was a statement more than a question.

“Of course, yes. Enough for a lifetime. Far too much.” John hoped that by saying it enough times he could make it true. His life as he had known it was out of reach now. His injuries meant that he would never do that kind of work again, his career as a surgeon was dead and buried. No point lingering by the grave, best to move on and tell himself and everyone else that he was making a different choice now.

Then Sherlock’s next words opened a new door a crack, and let the light of hope shine for a moment. “Want to see some more?”

John had never seriously considered a career in forensic medicine before, but compared to a career as a general practitioner seeing coughs and runny noses for eight hours a day? “Oh _God_ , yes.” He replied, fervently.


	14. Chapter 14

John and Sherlock arrived at the crime scene in Brixton Gardens, where John was subjected to the usual Alpha posturing and status games that he had learned to (mostly) ignore in the army. Sherlock and Lestrade played one-upmanship games and both tried to outmanoeuver Anderson. Of course the police were rather hampered by the fact that Sherlock obviously knew more about the scene than either of them and John could not help voicing his approval with a quiet “Brilliant” which made Sherlock preen and Lestrade annoyed.

John couldn’t help wondering if Sherlock had brought him along as a contrast to Sergeant Donovan, a police Omega who was apparently involved with the Alpha Anderson. Her antipathy to Sherlock was clear, though Sherlock was very far from expressing any interest in her. John wondered idly if there was any bad history between them, or if she was simply offended on Anderson’s behalf.

After half an hour at the crime scene, John decided that Sherlock was arrogant even for an Alpha. He had insulted everyone there, both generically and specifically, and seemed to delight in deliberately antagonizing Anderson and Lestrade in particular. John noted that Lestrade took it pretty well in his stride – he was obviously happily married and secure in himself, whereas Anderson was falling into Sherlock’s trap of trying to beat him on his own ground and failing miserably every time. John managed to keep from smiling, but it was an effort. Alpha posturing had always amused him but this was a positively hilarious example of the type – Sherlock was humiliating Anderson without even breaking a sweat.

When the fun and games were over, Sherlock dashed down the stairs and away. Leaving John standing by himself at the crime scene, which was now swarming with police officers. Suddenly Alpha independence was not nearly so amusing. John had a cane and a limp, and no idea where in London they were or where the nearest Tube station might be.

Of course, Sergeant Donovan took the opportunity to rub it in that Sherlock was not taking the kind of care of John that any Alpha with basic consideration would take of an Omega, especially one with a disability. Her pseudo-sympathetic smile made him want to spit. Instead he ground his teeth quietly and set off to find a taxi, taking care to make sure she saw that he ignored her parting injunction to break off contact with Sherlock Holmes.

# # # # # # # # # # # #

Attempts by Alphas to intimidate Captain John Watson were often risible, and always unsuccessful. The mysterious abduction to a warehouse by Sherlock’s ‘arch-enemy’ was no exception. Despite the dramatic posturing, John made it clear that he was more interested in the contents of his text messages from Sherlock than any bribe offers from the Alpha in the bespoke suit. Only the very end of the conversation interested him. Clearly the man knew (and despised)  his history as a Unit Omega, but why should he be so certain that Sherlock would never be able to ‘take care’ of John in that way?

# # # # # # # # # # # #

By the time he arrived back at the flat John was wet, cold and very annoyed with Sherlock Holmes. He felt he was being used. He had been invited to come to the crime scene on the basis of being an army doctor, and yet once he was there he was treated like some kind of Omega groupie – just there to flatter and admire Sherlock’s brilliance. Or even worse, to provide contrast with Sherlock’s insights by his straightforward failure to see what was directly in front of him. It didn’t make him feel any better to be in that category with Anderson. Normally John didn’t mind giving credit where credit was due, but in this case he would have felt a lot better about it if anyone had given him a bit of respect. Instead, he was being treated as an outsider and a hanger-on of apparently the least liked person at the crime scene. Brilliant.

The situation was not helped by Sherlock proceeding to ask John to send text messages on his behalf, and by demonstrating that he was at least ten steps ahead of everyone (including John) by finding the victim’s suitcase. For an encore he then likened John to his skull as a sounding board to make Sherlock appear more brilliant. By the time Sherlock finally suggested going for dinner, John felt a burning need to demonstrate that he was in control of something in his life.

As they sat in the restaurant window watching the house across the street, John mused over Sherlock’s undoubtedly Alpha personality (God, he’d never met anyone so arrogant!) but strangely muted sexuality. Most Alphas on meeting an Omega would try to impress them just by spinal reflex, but Sherlock had not. He had certainly enjoyed John’s honest admiration, but he also seemed rather surprised by it. He had positively ignored poor Molly’s advances and been essentially oblivious to the fact that she had basically bathed in pheromones. He had never made even the slightest effort to scent John. Combined with his positively unnatural lack of scent himself, he presented as being almost asexual. Was that even possible? John had heard of asexuals but wasn’t sure if he had ever met one. Although the man did seem completely obsessed with his work – could he be fixated enough to have sourced some illegal hormone suppressants? Or was he just appallingly socially inept?

John decided a bit of investigating was in order. Anyway, the man was an Alpha and rather attractive at that. Brilliant, clearly. They already shared a flat, which could be convenient for John’s heats, if Sherlock were cooperative. Might be nice to see if the wind lay in his direction, so to speak. John had never had any problems attracting Alphas when he was in the mood.

He decided to open with a fairly neutral enquiry. “So, you don’t have a girlfriend then?”

Sherlock was staring out the window at the house across the street and answered absently, “No, not really my area.”

John smiled to himself. Excellent. Next enquiry. “Do you have a boyfriend then?” John smiled in a way which he hoped would be intelligible to Sherlock. “Which is fine, by the way.”

“No,” answered Sherlock equally briefly.

John allowed his smile to broaden and warm his whole face. “Right, you’re unattached. Like me. Good.” John ran his fingers through his hair to pick up any residual pheromones, then casually laid his hand open on the table between them, inviting Sherlock to scent him if he wished. It was a rather blatant move, but Sherlock appeared to be oblivious to more subtle cues.

Sherlock stared at the hand on the table with a level of embarrassment that verged on horror. “John, I think you should know that I consider myself married to my work, and while I’m flattered by your interest I’m really not looking for any… er…” He seemed unable to bring himself to complete the sentence.

John froze, then stiffly withdrew his hand. It had been a long time since any Alpha had rejected him. Perhaps he had been just a little _too_ well looked-after in the army. Shit. This was going to make his next heat in their shared flat incredibly awkward. John flailed around for a way to save face and finally decided that perhaps the best route would be to pretend that the offer had never been made. “No, I’m not asking. It’s all fine,” he said, rather limply. The only way this conversation could have been worse would have been if he were actually _in_ heat when he made the offer and been rejected. Bloody hell.

Sherlock seemed rather relieved that the difficult part of the conversation was now over. He returned to staring out the window. The silence lasted only another moment before Sherlock spotted the taxi and leaving the conversation behind they flung themselves out of the restaurant in eager pursuit.

# # # # # # # # # # # #

They slammed the door of the flat behind them and stood, panting and laughing, in the hallway of 221B. John was out of breath and exultant in a way that he hadn’t been for a year. It reminded him of that amazing day in the army when four marines had chased him through the camp. That day had ended with an epic shagging session that put him back in his place at the centre of the Unit. Bitterness followed the thought – that day had been a result of a rejection too, hadn’t it?

He was still wrestling with the thought when Sherlock turned and shouted up the stairs “Mrs Hudson, Dr Watson _will_ take the room upstairs.”

Bloody Alphas, always thinking they get to make all the decisions and run the lives of the Omegas around them. Arrogant bastards. John turned around and making his disdain clear, said “Says who?”

Sherlock simply nodded his head towards the front door. “Says the man at the door.”

Just then there was a knock. John opened the door and stared at Angelo from the restaurant who had come to return his crutch. John took it in a daze without knowing what he said in return. He stared at the crutch in his hand, then down at his legs. Both were straight now, and he was standing comfortably after running easily through the city. Damn, so the physiotherapist had been right. But how had Sherlock known? And knowing, how had he so easily forced his way through John’s defenses? The physiotherapist and psychologist had both been working with him for weeks, while Sherlock had only met him yesterday.

John glanced under his lids up at Sherlock. Alpha, so very Alpha. But they had run _together_ , chasing someone else. Sherlock had not been chasing John. This was new, different. Sherlock and John, together as colleagues? Now, they were back in their shared home, laughing together. There was nothing sexual about it. John felt the clean sweat of a run on his body, no spices, no heat hormones. Sherlock was not scenting him or licking him or biting him. Sherlock was laughing with him.

With a shiver, John wondered if perhaps he had been in the army a bit too long. Was his self-image perhaps a little _too_ closely bound to his identity as a Unit Omega? Could he be of value to someone in a way that was separate from sex?

For the first time the thought struck John. Could an Alpha and an Omega be friends?


	15. Chapter 15

John clasped his hands together to still the trembling. It was over and they had both survived, that was the important thing. That was what he had to focus on. Deep breathing, slow and steady. John was _not_ going to have a PTSD flashback right here on the street, definitely not. Probably not. _Shit._ Focus. Focus on what actually happened. Here, London, not Afghanistan. John suppressed the whimper that was trying to force its way out of his throat and shut his eyes. He ran the night’s events through his mind’s eye.

They had laughed together in the hallway, and John had realized that even more than sex, more than anything, he wanted Sherlock’s friendship and respect. They had walked up the stairs to find Lestrade and his team tearing the flat apart while ‘looking for drugs’. It was obvious to both John and Sherlock that this was a ploy to put pressure on Sherlock to be more forthcoming with the evidence he had found. John had been almost as indignant as Sherlock. It was not ‘withholding evidence’ if Sherlock had found it himself in the first place! It wasn’t his fault the police were too stupid to find it themselves.

John felt his hands start to shake again as he remembers the overwhelming scent of three strange Alphas, plus a number of other people invading his home, touching and moving his things and Lestrade sitting in _his_ chair. John forces himself to take deep breaths and move on. Leave aside the disturbing implication that Sherlock was (is?) a drug user. Deal with that part later. Breathe, breathe through the next part.

John took a slow deep breath to offset the remembered panic. Sherlock leaving, chasing the GPS tracking dot through London night to the empty buildings. Which building? Damn the inaccurate GPS, it has to be one of them. John clenches his fists to fight off the agony of the choice. Sherlock would have known which building just by looking at the invisible footprints on the footpath or some damn thing, but John had to just guess. With Sherlock’s life on the line, his only friend in danger and John had to take a guess, and quickly. Right or wrong, but delay is definitely wrong, so _choose_.

John remembers the wild run through the darkened building, searching, calling. The mounting fear that this is the wrong building, that he is too slow, that it is already too late and Sherlock is already dying or dead at the hands of the serial killer. Running up stairs, choosing over and over, this room? This one? Skip this one, or not? Every room searched is one more room cleared, but it is slow, too slow to check every room. And yet to skip one could be to miss the vital room, the vital clue.

Running up another flight of stairs, panting, heart pounding. Is his heart rate elevated from the exercise or the fear of losing this new life before it has even started? Sherlock, who is the key to it all – where is the key?

Then the horror of discovery, the sucker punch in the gut from seeing Sherlock in the _other_ building. A pane of glass and a hundred yards away might as well be the other side of the universe. Sherlock is with the serial killer, has what is obviously a poison pill in his hand. It doesn’t matter how he has been convinced to take it, this is the pattern of the serial killer; to make people take poison. Sherlock might be interested in the details but John is a results man.

This is the moment John’s whole life has been preparing for. Thank God for all that time spent with Matt and Joe on the shooting range. He pulls out his pistol and aims for the serial killer’s back. Two handed grip, both eyes open. Deep breath in, breathe all the way out and pause. Lungs empty, wait until after the third heartbeat. Sight narrows down to only the target. Hands steady and still, just one movement of the trigger finger. _Squeeze_.

Relief blooms in his chest at the same time as blood appears on the target’s. The serial killer collapses but John only has eyes for Sherlock. The pill, the poison, get rid of it dammit! Sherlock drops the pill in favour of hurrying to the window pane to examine the bullet hole. John had almost laughed in that moment, despite it all, at this evidence that Sherlock is a civilian. A military man like John wouldn’t bother examining the bullet hole, would be more interested in tracking the trajectory of where the bullet had come from.

Relief and joy made John’s steps light as he ran back down the stairs to the front of the building. By then Lestrade and his team had also arrived. John quietly exited the building and stood just outside the police lines waiting for a glimpse of Sherlock. His hands were starting to shake by then with reaction and the bottoming out of his adrenaline supplies. He just needed to see Sherlock walking, talking and being not dead. He had saved a life today. The most important life in his world right now.

Sherlock had finally emerged from the building and immediately been taken into custody by the police and the paramedics, and of course by the ever-present and never-to-be-sufficiently-cursed reporters. Sherlock had been sitting in the ambulance apparently explaining something to Lestrade when John had felt the events of the night catching up with him. His left hand had started trembling again and when he leaned against the building for a moment his left shoulder suddenly felt like it was bursting into red bloody agony. God, it was like he had been shot all over again.

That was when it started happening. The police lights were bright, like the sun of Afghanistan shining on his closed eyelids. His shoulder was on fire, he was bleeding into the sand and there was no Bill to carry him home…

John gasped and forced his eyes open, forced himself back into the present day, present time and place. London, not Afghanistan, _not_ Afghanistan, dammit! His eyes darted across the crime scene and he caught Sherlock’s gaze. Sherlock was staring back at him with a mixture of realization and admiration. John felt the constricting band around his chest start to loosen. Only the enemy had been shot, Sherlock and John were OK.

Sherlock gave Lestrade an irritated wave and an excuse and started to make his way over to John. When he arrived, his expression was more openly admiring. “Good shot.”

John started to demur, then realized there was no point trying to fool Sherlock.

“We need to get the powder burns out of your fingers. Let’s avoid a court case?” Sherlock raised one eyebrow.

John frowned at this reminder that his gun was technically illegal. He had been allowed to keep it in the Royal Chelsea, but when he had moved out he should have surrendered it.

Sherlock was looking closely at him. “Are you all right? You have just killed a man.”

John wasn’t sure how to answer that question. _Yes, I took down the enemy to save you and I’d do it again in a heartbeat._ No, he couldn’t say that. He settled for a noncommittal shrug and a bad joke. “Well, he wasn’t a very nice man, was he?”

Sherlock had laughed. They were OK. More than OK. They were friends.


	16. Chapter 16

The next few days after closing the case involved paperwork and general tie-down and tidy up. John moved the rest of his few things from the Royal Chelsea Hospital into Baker St, sorted and arranged them, did some shopping and even some cooking. As he was hanging up the few pictures and personal items he owned he came across his calendar. He hung it in the usual place over the desk, then sat slowly at the desk and stared at it. His calendar. His heats. _Shit._

His calendar was totally useless, of course. While he had been sick he had not had a heat at all and he was so far off-cycle now that he had no idea when to expect the next one. Not too soon, judging by how his body felt, but it could strike at any time with only a day’s warning or perhaps not even that.

He reviewed his options. After his abortive conversation with Sherlock on the topic he wasn’t sure spending his heat in the flat was a good option. It would be hideously embarrassing, at best. There was no way he could keep from Sherlock what was happening to him. Their friendship was new enough that he didn’t think he wanted Sherlock to see him like that. And his own judgement was often impaired at that time, if he got desperate enough… No, strike out that idea.

He could go back to the hospital. They would be sure to have suitable ‘facilities’ but spending a heat alone in a strange place was always the last option on his list. He could go to a professional broker who would match him up with a willing Alpha or two. He could probably even get the army to pay for it. He held that option in reserve.

He could go out pulling and see if anyone was willing in the local pub or nightclub. In his experience finding a willing Alpha was not the problem. Finding a clean and reliable person whose rooms he was willing to share for four days – that was the problem.

He sighed and scrubbed his hands over his face. He needed to plan this. The last thing he wanted was for the heat sweat to start down his back, his brain to go out the window and to come home and throw himself all over Sherlock, as the nearest Alpha. That would be the inevitable result if he didn’t plan this properly, and that would be a terrible outcome. Sherlock had made it clear that he wasn’t interested. Using heat hormones to change his mind, would that be so dreadful? Yes. Yes, it definitely would. He was trying to move away from all that and find himself a new identity, new work, new friendships which were founded on being more than an Omega. Bloody biology.

New work, yes. He needed a job. His hands were steady and strong enough now to write prescriptions, at least. He could work as a doctor in the community, even if he could no longer operate. He resolved to visit both the local clinics and the local hospital. Somewhere would need an Omega doctor, if only because mothers preferred their Omega children to be examined by another Omega. It was a rather ridiculous bias but it existed and he might as well take advantage of it.

His thoughts were interrupted by his phone ringing. It was a blocked number. Not many people had this number so far. Oh well, only one way to find out who it was. He answered it.

“Hello?”

“Hello, this is Theresa from the Royal Chelsea Hospital. I’m looking for Captain John Watson.”

“Speaking.” _Oh God, let this not be about his gun._

“Now that you have moved out of our accommodation, we need to know if you give permission for us to release your new contact details.”

“Who is asking for them?”

“Oh nobody.” Then, perhaps realizing how that sounded she hastily corrected herself. “That is, not yet. But if anyone wants to reach you or if mail comes for you it tends to be quicker if we can contact you directly rather than routing everything back through the central personnel office. With your permission we can also help service people get in touch with you. We don’t release your details to outsiders, of course.”

“Oh, of course,” replied John automatically. It was rather depressing to think that no-one wanted to get in touch with him other than Harry, and he didn’t particularly want to hear from her. She had his phone number already, anyway. “OK, sure. Release my details to internal people. That’s fine.”

“Thank you for clarifying that, “ trilled Theresa. “Have a nice day.”

John winced at the Americanism as he ended the call. The expression was creeping in everywhere. He didn’t need anyone to tell him what kind of day to have. He knew already it was going to be dull. Job hunting always was. He decided to start by polishing up his CV.

# # # # # # # # # # # #

“Sherlock! I’m going out.”

Silence.

“I’ve got a job interview.”

More silence.

“Aren’t you going to wish me luck?”

Sherlock’s head popped up from the sofa, startling John who had thought he was in his bedroom. “Luck doesn’t enter into it. Either you will get the job or you won’t. My deduction is that they will offer you a locum position until they have seen how you work. Army doctor, lots of experience, could be good for them but they also know that you were discharged with a medal that indicates you were wounded. They are all doctors themselves of course, so they know there’s a high risk you have some form of war trauma even if not formally diagnosed with PTSD, which you are. They won’t offer you a full time position immediately, but they can’t risk turning you down, so, locum work. Not that much of a leap.” The head disappeared behind the back of the sofa.

“You don’t know that.” John protested weakly.

# # # # # # # # # # # #

Dr Sarah Sawyer, the practice principal doctor, looked at John’s CV and hummed to herself. “Well,” she said finally, “You’re a bit over-qualified but we can offer you locum work.”

John hid his sigh beneath a smile. “I could always do with the money.”

Sarah’s smile broadened. “It says here you were a soldier and an Omega in the army…” she trailed off suggestively.

“And a doctor,” said John firmly.

Sarah allowed herself to be moved off the topic, but clearly, note had been taken. Sarah herself was an Alpha, of course, and apparently interested in him. John tentatively added her to his mental list of options for when the time came.

# # # # # # # # # # # #

John broached the subject with Sherlock as soon as he got home. “So, I went to see about a job at that surgery.”

“How was it?” Sherlock replied absently. He was staring at an evidence board he’d made of the mirror.

“It’s great. She’s great.”

“She?” Sherlock immediately picked up on the word.

“It. The job. You were right, they offered me a locum position.”

Sherlock stared at him for a moment. “The practice principal is an Alpha. She wants an Omega doctor in the practice for professional reasons. You think she might want you for personal reasons also.”

John blushed. “I’m not even going to ask how you deduced that. Maybe. The whole thing is a definite maybe.”

# # # # # # # # # # # #

The case of the Black Lotus had been a blast. John had been given Lukis’ diary while Sherlock worked on tracing van Coon, and John had been the first to find the Lucky Cat shop which served as a front for the smuggling ring. John basked in glory – on his blog if nowhere else. It was true that Sherlock had offered him no overt praise or encouragement, but John knew Sherlock well enough by now not to expect it. Sherlock shared his contempt for the Yarders freely and often. John would be in no doubt if he were in that category. Which implied that Sherlock thought of him differently.

If Sherlock trusted him, had been impressed by him, then losing Sarah was a small price and he was more than willing to pay it. He was fairly sure she would never give him a second date after the disastrous kidnapping of their first date. He couldn’t bring himself to regret it. She had been interested in his Omega-ness. Sherlock had been impressed by the fact that he had thought to take a picture of the wall of graffiti. What was an ASBO in comparison with that?

# # # # # # # # # # # #

John cursed his biology, his body and the ridiculous timing. It was like his own body knew his situation and was doing its best to sabotage his life. No sooner had he decided than Sarah was not an option after all, than his body had slammed into full heat. No warning, no build-up, he was already there. He whimpered and involuntarily rocked his hips on the bed as he opened the contacts list on his phone. He wasn’t even sure he could get there safely, but his only option now was to go back to the hospital. He couldn’t walk on the street like this, he’d be raped for sure. He was disgusted with his body’s eager response to that thought. No, he was a danger to himself and a risk to any innocent Alpha walking by who might catch scent of him. He was a crime waiting to happen.

He found the number for the hospital and gave thanks that at least it was business hours on a week day. He tried to encourage himself with the thought that it could have been worse. Finally the hospital switchboard answered. “Hello, Royal Chelsea Hospital. To which department may I transfer your call?”

“H-Hello. I need, um, can I speak to Mark in physiotherapy, please?”

“Transferring you now. Have a nice day.”

John gritted his teeth and clenched his hand into a fist on his thigh. He was not going to put his hand down his pants while on the phone to his physiotherapist. He was _not_.

“Physiotherapy department, Robert speaking.”

“Oh. This is Captain John Watson, I was looking for Mark?”

“He’s on an RDO* today, is there anything I can do for you?”

John sighed and tried to force his mind away from what he would like Robert to be doing to him. God, he was desperate. He didn’t even know what Robert’s gender was but his hormones were telling him that Robert had a thrillingly deep voice which meant he would have a glorious big knot and that he wanted it inside him _right now_.

“Hello?”

“Yes, sorry. Er, well, actually I was wondering if your department had any facilities for Omegas.”

“No, I’m afraid we don’t.”

John froze. How was this even possible? How could the hospital not have anything for him? What the _hell_ was he going to do now?

Robert was continuing. “Most of the clients here are pyrexipausal, either through age or war trauma. Since it so rarely becomes an issue, so we don’t have permanent facilities here. If there’s a younger Omega who is likely to need accommodation we make a special arrangement on a case by case basis with a local hotel. We don’t have any Omegas as in-pensioners at the moment though. I can recommend a good broker service if you are looking for one.”

“Yes please, give me the name.” He wrote down the name and address, noting with dismay that it was on the other side of London.

He hung up the phone and clutched the piece of paper in his sweating hand. It was getting so hard to _think_. If he gave himself just one orgasm, maybe that would clear his mind enough to work out something more suitable. Yes, that sounded like a good idea. Just one though, he didn’t want to get stuck in this room for his whole heat. It would have to be a quiet one too, Sherlock was just downstairs in the living room.

John dropped the phone and the piece of paper on his bedside table and reached into the drawer for his dildo. It had been a long time since he had spent a heat alone. He had cleaned and put this away… had it really been three years ago? He pulled it out and checked it over. Looked in reasonable condition. He squeezed the bulb to inflate the knot at the base – and the plastic cracked. John stared at the jagged edges with disbelief and horror. He would be sliced to pieces if he tried to use it like that. He dropped the useless device on the floor and felt tears pricking behind his eyes.

He took a deep breath to steady himself. It was OK, it would be OK. Lots of high school students just stayed in their rooms and took care of themselves with their own fingers. He had not done it that way for years, but it would be fine, he could do this.

The doctor in the back of his mind was saying something about adolescent hormone cycles being different from full-blown adult heats. He told the doctor that if he wasn’t going to find something better to fuck him with, then he could just shut up and start using his fingers.

# # # # # # # # # # # #

After his third orgasm, John realized that it wasn’t going to work. His fingers were too short and his body was too used to being knotted to feel satisfied. He lay on his bed panting and let his eyes wander around the room in search of something that might help. Pen? Too narrow. Handle of his hairbrush? Wrong shape. This was getting ridiculous.

John staggered out of bed and fell into his desk chair. Laptop. Yes. Online ordering. He opened a search site and ordered a dildo from the first hit that would take his credit card. He paid the extra ten pounds for rush delivery and flopped back down on the bed. Now he only had to survive the next four hours until the courier arrived.

# # # # # # # # # # # #

Aeons later, the doorbell finally rang. John groaned and dragged himself out of bed. His sensitized and overheated skin would not tolerate anything heavier than a dressing gown. He wrapped himself in one and tied the belt as loosely as was decent, then made his way downstairs. He poked his head into the living room as he went past, looking for Sherlock but no consulting detective seemed to be in evidence.

He made it to the front door and jerked it open. The courier’s eyes widened and his nostrils twitched as he caught scent of John. Then he got himself under control again and proffered the box and the clipboard for John’s signature. John tucked the box under his arm and scrawled his initials at the bottom of the page.

The courier swallowed noisily as John handed back the clipboard. “Do you need any help with that product, sir? I could help you unpack it…”

John scowled at this reminder that he was emitting sexual overtures to all and sundry. “No,” he replied shortly, and closed the front door firmly.

John dragged himself up the stairs to the kitchen to look for a knife to open the box. Might as well get a drink of water too, while he was there. He had not had time to stock the fridge with easy access snacks. This was not going to be a pleasant heat at all. Next time he would need to make better arrangements.

After rummaging through several drawers there was no box cutter but John finally found a bread knife. Dammit, that would have to do. He sliced open the box and yanked out the contents. The instruction manual slid through his fingers onto the floor as John gaped at the impressive _Alpha Supreme!_ he had apparently ordered. The name sounded vaguely like a kind of pizza, but the box assured him that the product had a vibration function, a very lifelike texture and (most importantly) batteries included. John supposed the lurid purple colour must have been the default option as he certainly did not remember choosing it. He was just experimenting with the mechanism that inflated the knot when Sherlock walked into the kitchen.

John froze, suddenly aware of how he must look. His hair was mussed and sweaty from his earlier bedroom activities, he was wearing a dressing gown with nothing underneath, and holding an enormous purple dildo. He also no doubt reeked of sex pheromones, according to the reaction of the courier who had only been standing outside on the footpath. Sherlock was right here in the same room with him. John wondered if he should pick up the bread knife to demonstrate that his ‘no’ really meant no.

“John. I came to make a cup of tea. I… er… see that you are in heat, and… um…” Sherlock trailed off.

“No shit, Sherlock,” said John wearily. “And I’m not having a very good time of it, so if you would go back into your room and let me get back to mine, I think that would be best all around.”

Sherlock hovered uncertainly in the doorway for another moment. He looked uncomfortable, but John’s gaze noted that he was not apparently aroused. John wondered if there was something wrong with him – John’s scent at the moment should be strong enough to force a piece of wet spaghetti into an erection. As if he knew what John was thinking, Sherlock quickly withdrew. John took his water bottle and his hard won _Alpha Supreme!_ and escaped upstairs to his own room. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *RDO is a Rostered Day Off, commonly taken as time in lieu in professions where working on weekends and bank holidays is required.


	17. Chapter 17

The third morning of his heat John woke feeling sick. His mouth was dry and his head was pounding. His arse was throbbing too, and not in a good way. He opened his eyes, which were sticky, and had to blink several times to clear them. He tried to open his throat, but it took two attempts to even produce a groan.

Dehydration. His doctor brain told him he needed a good drink, a long shower and another drink. And some lubricant. His natural juices had always been enough before, but now he had nothing to spare. Food would be good too, if possible. He had managed a jam sandwich sometime during the second day, darting down to the kitchen to slap it together and then retreating back upstairs immediately to consume it. The sweet jam had tasted wonderful, but the sugar rush had worn off fairly quickly and now he needed something more substantial.

He lifted his head enough to look at his laptop, but it was on the desk and at least a metre from the bed. Too far. John decided to attempt reaching the bathroom first. Then he would have water to drink and to wash in, both in the one location with no further movement necessary. He would deal with arranging groceries and lube later.

With another groan, John threw his legs over the side of the bed and dragged himself to his… hands and knees. Shit. How did that happen? His blood pressure must be lower than he thought. He had emptied his drink bottle late last night and had not refilled it. In retrospect that had been a bad decision. He was going to need to get used to taking care of himself again. There was no Alpha to bring him anything now. On the contrary, he was trying to avoid all contact with the Alpha in the flat. He should definitely put on some clothes before venturing out of his room.

What time was it now anyway? Was he supposed to be at the clinic? John couldn’t remember if he had called Sarah and let her know he would not be at work for a few days. There was a clock in his laptop. If he could get to the desk he would know what time it was. But he wasn’t going to his desk. John frowned into the carpet. He was going somewhere else. Where? He needed something. Lubricant. He was going to his desk to get his laptop to order lubricant. Wasn’t he?

John managed to crawl to his desk and pull himself up on his desk chair. Ah, he liked desk chairs. That had been a fantastic shag with Ben and Joe in the desk chair back in Afghanistan. Where was Daniel? Where was Bill? John whimpered in the back of his throat. He needed Matt, or Chandran, or Peter. Where was his unit when he needed them?

He opened his laptop. Email. He could email someone from his unit and get them to bring him some lubricant. No, wait. No, he couldn’t. Ben didn’t like lubricant. John bit his thumbnail. Something was wrong, but he couldn’t quite work it out.

God, his mouth was dry. Maybe he should go get a drink and come back and work on his emails later. Yes, a drink would make him feel better. Some tea would be nice.

John levered himself to his feet, using the back of the desk chair for balance. Was there something wrong with his leg? He’d been shot in the shoulder, but his leg was fine. It was Daniel who had a leg injury, which was probably why he wasn’t here for John’s heat. The memory rushed back, clear and fresh enough that John felt like crying all over again. Daniel saying that he was in pain every day, that he loved them all but he missed Jack so much that he couldn’t go on any more. That he liked teaching and was going to retire from active service to train new recruits. Ah yes, that explained everything. Daniel had retired back to Scotland, that’s why he wasn’t here now. That’s why John needed to get his own water. Where was his water bottle?

John’s feet had carried him as far as the door to his room. He unlocked it and stood on the landing looking down the precipitous drop of the stairs. Hm. Those stairs looked awfully steep, but Mark said it was good for him to push his limits. Was it Mark who had said that? He thought it was one of the physiotherapists, anyway. He set his foot to the first step and by clinging to the handrail managed to climb halfway down before he lost his balance and tumbled the rest of the way.

He was lying in a dazed heap in the hallway outside the kitchen when he saw a new face hovering over him. “Hello Sherlock. You’re upside down.”

Sherlock frowned at him. Was Sherlock angry with him? Had he said the wrong thing? Or, wait, was the problem that he was lying on the floor? That was bad. Why was that bad? Sherlock was his flatmate, he was supposed to be avoiding him during his heat. He certainly wasn’t supposed to be lying down in front of him – what if Sherlock got the wrong idea? He was naked too. There was something wrong with that. Sherlock wasn’t part of his unit, was he?

“I was a service Omega, you know,” he said confidingly. “People often think that makes me some kind of slag, but it wasn’t like that. I loved my unit and they loved me. They cared for me and looked after me.” John started to sniffle. “And now they are all gone and I can’t find them and I can’t email them either.” John dropped his voice lower. “Ben doesn’t like artificial lubricant you know. I need some, but I can’t let him know.”

John felt Sherlock’s hands under his arms, lifting him to his feet. “Where are we going?”

Sherlock’s voice rumbled through his body where they were pressed together as Sherlock let John lean against him. “To the bathroom, John. I think you need an aspirin and a drink.”

“Oh yes! What a good idea!” John smiled cheerfully at Sherlock. “An Alpha taking me for a drink is a good sign. Are we going to have a boyfriend experience then?”

He felt Sherlock take a deep breath and sigh. “No, John. Just a drink of water and some aspirin.”

John wrinkled his nose. “I’m a doctor, you know.”

“I know, John. A good one.”

“Yes, and I’m telling you I don’t need an aspirin. I just need some food and some lubricant and I’ll be fine.”

They had reached the bathroom. Sherlock shifted John to lean against the wall while he filled a glass of water. “Here, drink this. Do you want a shower or would a bath be better?”

“Just a shower. I’m fine.” Well, the tiles of the bathroom wall were rather cold against his overheated skin, but apart from that he was fine. He pushed away from the wall. He was fine, see? He was standing with a barely perceptible sway.

Sherlock quirked an eyebrow at John, but didn’t say anything. John guzzled down the water and returned the glass to Sherlock.

“John, how about I let you have a shower and I’ll make you something to eat. What kind of food do you need?”

“High protein, moderate fat, moderate carbs. And some tea.”

Sherlock nodded. “How does scrambled eggs on toast sound?”

“Great! Bill always makes that for me during heats. His are so much better than in the mess hall. Mess hall scrambled eggs are always too runny.” John leaned in close to Sherlock and whispered. “They use reconstituted egg powder. That’s why the texture is so odd.”

Sherlock nodded and whispered back. “I know how to keep secrets. I’ll never tell - and I’ll never eat scrambled eggs from the mess hall. You have your drink of water and shower, then when you’re done come into the kitchen and have some breakfast.”

John nodded agreeably and started peeling off his… oh. He wasn’t wearing anything. All the better for jumping in the shower then. The temperature was just right. Sherlock must have asked Matt how to do it. Matt always made them just like this – very warm, right on the borderline of too hot. John would be lovely and pink when he got out. The Alphas liked him warm and pink. Sherlock would like him warm and pink. Was Sherlock a member of his unit? He couldn’t remember. Sherlock was clearly an Alpha, and yet his mind seemed to be telling him that he was not part of the unit. Was he another loaner? There were plenty of Alphas in the RAMC, more than Omegas, in fact. Never mind, he could sort it out later.

# # # # # # # # # # # #

After his drink and shower, and drinking some of the shower water, John felt much better. He had a vague feeling he had been a bit confused earlier but he felt much clearer now. Food next, then retire to his room again to scratch the itch he could feel building up in the core of his body. He could put it off a bit longer just to get some nutrition into himself, but then he would have to give his body what it wanted.

John pulled on a dressing gown and made his way to the kitchen. A space had been cleared at the kitchen table and there was already a cup of tea sitting there. John slid into the seat and took a sip of the tea. “Thanks Sherlock, this is great.”

Sherlock turned around and slid two plates onto the table. Each had two slices of toast with a large pile of creamy scrambled eggs. John took a bite and rolled his eyes with ecstasy. “Fantastic! I had no idea you could cook. You’ll be doing this more often from now on.”

Sherlock sat down opposite and gave him a tight little smile. “I did manage to survive living on my own for years, you know. Scrambled eggs are easy enough. It’s just applied chemistry; temperature, reaction time and desired protein texture.” He paused for a moment, then added, “And plenty of butter.”

John laughed. “Careful, you’ll be giving away all your secrets next.”

The smile slid off Sherlock’s face. He murmured very low, “Yes, quite likely.”

John ate in silence for a while, concentrating on getting himself outside his meal as quickly as possible. When he had finished his plate and most of his tea, Sherlock pushed the second plate across as well. “I’m not really hungry and you have another day of your heat left to go. Better eat while you can.”

John accepted eagerly. The eggs were delicious, and he hadn’t eaten properly for two days. Sherlock watched him eat without talking until he was almost finished. Then he asked very casually, “So, is there anything else you need?”

John sipped the last of his tea. “That was a great meal, just what I needed. That will probably see me through until Sunday night. I’ll want dinner then, after my heat is ended.” He blushed a little. It seemed odd to be talking about something so personal with someone who wasn’t a doctor or another Omega.

“You mentioned earlier needing some lubricant. I found some vegetable oil in the kitchen, or there’s always the butter. There might also be some petroleum jelly in the first aid kit.”

John considered his options. “I think the petroleum jelly might be best. Oil or butter could get very messy, although I agree they would probably work.”

Sherlock nodded, then with an air of relief, he rose and returned to his room. John debated doing the washing up or going straight upstairs. His Alphas in the unit had always washed up after cooking for him during his heats, but Sherlock wasn’t his Alpha and he had done so much already. John rinsed the plates and stacked them in the dishwasher. As he was scrubbing out the pan, he noticed his hands starting to shake and the irresistible itchy heat in his arse becoming increasingly distracting. On his way upstairs he snagged the petroleum jelly from the bathroom. Next heat he would have to lay in some personal lubricant but for now this would be more than adequate.

# # # # # # # # # # # #

On the evening of the fourth day of his heat, John suddenly sat up in bed feeling cool and rational. His heat was over, thank Christ, and felt his usual self again. He threw on a dressing gown and headed downstairs for one last shower.

Emerging from his room, cool and clean and properly dressed for the first time in four days, John met Sherlock in the hall.

“Sherlock, I’m just going to make some tea, then I’ll order something for dinner. Anything for you?”

Sherlock studied John closely for a moment, then smiled his rare genuine smile. “I see you are feeling better this evening. Yes, tea would be lovely.”

John went into the kitchen and made tea for both of them while perusing the options for dinner. He decided that he was in the mood for Chinese. He rang in an order for soup and noodles and some spring rolls as well, why not?

While waiting for the meal to arrive, John pushed aside the various experiments on the kitchen table to create some space for them to sit and eat. He dug out some cutlery and put the tea on the table as well. Just then the food arrived, so to complete the domestic scene John served out some of each dish onto two plates. He called into the living room, “Sherlock! Food’s ready!”

Sherlock came to the table and sat down opposite John. He raised one eyebrow at the unusual formality of the setting.

John shrugged. “You made such a classy effort for our last meal together, I thought the least I could do was to put the take-away onto a couple of plates.”

Sherlock huffed a laugh, and they ate in companionable silence for a few minutes. Then John decided to broach a subject which had been on his mind for some time. “So, about our last meal together. I’ve been meaning to ask…”

Sherlock sighed and put down his fork. “You have questions,” he stated flatly.

“Well, yes,” replied John. “I wondered at first about your iron self-control which allowed you to pick up a naked Omega mid-heat,” John blushed a bit at the memory, “and put me in the shower without even a hint of arousal.”

“But then you concluded…” prompted Sherlock.

“That it isn’t a question of self-control at all.” John quirked an eyebrow at Sherlock, who nodded in confirmation. John continued with more certainty, “Combined with your lack of scent and the fact that I’ve never seen you scent anyone or anything ever, there are only two possibilities. Either your ability to perceive pheromones is blocked or absent, or your hormonal ability to respond is missing.”

Sherlock nodded quietly, “Or both.”

John pursed his lips. “That makes sense, actually. I thought it was a bit strange that you said you could ‘see’ that I was in heat. No-one else would say that. People usually scent a heat rather than see it. Obviously there are physical signs to be seen, flushed skin, elevated pulse and so on, but for most people the overwhelming evidence of a heat is the pheromonal signal.”

“You are quite right. I don’t receive pheromones at all, so I rely on visual cues to gather the same information. I have a normal sense of smell, it is just the pheromones that are missing. That is how my deductive skills started. When one sense is missing the others are sharpened to compensate. When I stopped receiving scent cues, I had to learn to use visual information to make up the deficit.” Sherlock shrugged, “It spilled over into other areas and now I get so much visual information from small clues that people sometimes think it is a magic trick. It isn’t, of course, any more than blind people using sound cues to navigate around a room.”

John looked closely at Sherlock for a moment. “You said you ‘stopped’ receiving scent cues. So you weren’t born this way?” John blushed. “Sorry if that’s an impertinent question. I had assumed you had always been like this.”

“No,” said Sherlock with a sigh. “I think you gathered when Lestrade did his fake ‘drugs bust’ that I had been a drug user in the past.” He didn’t wait for John to confirm the obvious. “It was after I dropped out of university. I was using cocaine and heroin, and sleeping rough on the streets at times after I got kicked out of various flats.”

“Is this some kind of drug side effect, then? I’ve never heard of that.” John asked.

Sherlock winced. “Not a side effect, no. Anyway, there was one particular episode when I almost overdosed. I was high and manic and I nearly assaulted an Omega in early heat who was sleeping under a bridge. I didn’t,” he hastened to assure John, “but Mycroft was very angry. He said it would be unconscionable for him to let me roam around like this; that an out of control Alpha is an unacceptable risk to those around me. I was already in hospital being treated for the overdose, so it didn’t take much for Mycroft to convince the treating doctor that I was also psychotic and needed an injection of a massive dose of benperidol. I am tall and Mycroft fudged the figures on my weight to get me a dose ten times the usual.”

John’s mouth fell open in shock. “Oh my God! Sherlock, are you telling me that your brother had you _chemically castrated_?”

Sherlock flinched, “That was what ended any hope of a civil relationship between us. I couldn’t forgive him for what he did, and he still maintains it was for my own good and that he had no choice.”

“Jesus, Sherlock, there is always another choice! No wonder he is your arch enemy!” John chewed his lip for a moment. “So, do you think it is permanent?”

Sherlock lifted one hand, palm up. “Who knows? Suffice it to say that I haven’t had so much as a wet dream since then.” He sighed. “I probably don’t have to tell you that this is not widely known information. I think Lestrade may have guessed, but he’s never mentioned it to me. I’ve never been sure if Sally Donovan knows or not – she’s called me a freak since I first started at the Yard, but I don’t think that is related to my… state. No-one else knows, and I’d prefer to keep it that way.”

“Of course, of course. But you must have known it would come out if you started sharing a flat with me, or any Omega.”

“Yes, but what I told Stamford was true – I’m a difficult man to live with. If I could find someone of any gender who was willing to share a flat with me, then I could live with that person knowing my secret.” Sherlock quirked a small smile. “Actually, it makes me a safer flatmate for you than if I were normal. You don’t need to lock your bedroom door during your heats, or avoid contact with me.” Sherlock frowned a little. “I was worried about you yesterday. I could hear you stumbling around your room and I thought you might need food or water, but of course I couldn’t enter your room to check.”

John raised one eyebrow. “Alpha protective instinct appears to be intact, then?”

Sherlock sniffed. “Nothing of the kind. If you gave yourself a stroke through overheating and dehydration I’d have to find another flatmate, which would not be an efficient use of my time.”

“Sure that’s the reason.” John nodded slowly.

Sherlock waved off his suspicion. “By the way, a letter came for you two days ago. Snail mail. I put it on the mantelpiece with the others.”

“Really?” John was surprised. People rarely sent him actual letters when email was so much quicker. He allowed himself to be distracted from talking about Sherlock’s condition and went into the living room to get the letter.

It was not just a letter, from the weight it was an entire package of letters and maybe some photos as well. The postmark was from Afghanistan. John turned it over. The return address was to Sergeant Murray. John smiled. So good old Bill had finally got his promotion!

He tore open the package, and grinned when he saw the contents. Bill had collected notes and photos from everyone in the unit, even Kate Simpson. His covering note simply said “Thought this might cheer you up!”

John laughed and sighed and marvelled at the contents. There were photos of each other and themselves in training, in the mess hall, with beers in hand, grubby from a vigorous game of football. There were notes about what they had been doing, though no classified mission information of course.

The most precious letters were two at the bottom. One was a chatty, newsy letter from Lt. Chandran detailing what the photos and notes hinted at, and what the unit had been doing. He had gone to the trouble to mention every member of the unit with some anecdote of what they were up to currently. It was full of Chandran’s consideration and eye for detail, and his team mates lived and breathed in every line.

The other was a much shorter note from Joe, saying that he was going to be on leave in London in a few months and asking if he could come to stay with John. A visitor! They could reminisce about the old days in person! Fantastic! Forgetting the conversation with Sherlock completely, John ran up to his room and jumped on his computer to shoot an email to Joe’s address as given at the bottom of the note.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays everyone! I’m going offline for a week, so this fic will not update again until after New Year. But I think all the major hanging issues are resolved and this seems like a good place to leave it for a while.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: With gratitude and thanks to the wonderful Ariane DeVere for her transcript on which I rely (but change as I see fit!)

John wanted to punch himself in the face. He had been given a perfect opportunity to show Sherlock that he could do it too, and he’d gone and made a complete mess of it. Sherlock had offered him the bloody trainers and asked him to deduce them – and what had happened? Oh yes. Sherlock had said, “You missed almost everything of importance,” and had proceeded to deduce the owner of the shoes and the answer to the problem, right on the spot. John was humiliated, embarrassed and horribly aroused.

He had wanted to show Sherlock that he was clever. He had wanted to show Sherlock that he could think, that he was more than just an Omega, only of use for slaking lust and decorating his arm at formal events. And of course he had ended up proving exactly the opposite. For the final cherry on the top of his steaming pile of mortification, listening to Sherlock accurately deduce the answer himself had made John realize how much he longed for Sherlock to be his Mysterious Alpha.

Sherlock was brilliant. Sherlock was gorgeous. Sherlock was totally unattainable and married to his work. Even now, John wasn’t sure if the married to his work thing was a result of Mycroft’s injection or if it would have happened anyway. Because John had to admit, however unwillingly, that Sherlock and the Work were a perfect match. Sherlock loved the Work and was brilliant at it. When Sherlock didn’t have the Work he was frustrated, bored and destructive to everything around him. John was dreadfully jealous of the Work – it made Sherlock happy in a way that John never could. Sherlock would never want John _that way_ , so the only way for John to share Sherlock’s life was to impress him with his ability to participate in the Work. John pressed the heels of his hands over his eyes and sighed.

**____________________**

John had been wrong. He didn’t want to punch himself; he wanted to punch Moriarty, whoever he was. Sherlock was absorbed in Moriarty, in the puzzles, in the Game that he and Moriarty were playing. John was humiliatingly aware that he was not a player in the Great Game. He was just another piece on the board, probably soon to be sacrificed if it gave Sherlock an advantage.

Finally, John’s bitter jealousy overflowed into words. “I hope you’ll be very happy together,” he spat at Sherlock.

Sherlock argued back and they had a fight that was about everything and nothing. The argument did not even touch the heart of the issue, which was that Sherlock was Sherlock. He didn’t care about people. John was John, and he cared about Sherlock. He was steering himself toward a major heartbreak. He had his eyes open and he still couldn’t help himself. He was finally learning the meaning of hopelessly in love. With a stress laid on the _hopeless_.

**____________________**

The case was closed, the Bruce-Partington Plans returned and Mycroft had offered Sherlock a knighthood. It was all finished and tied up with a pretty bow. John checked his calendar with satisfaction. For once, his body was on time and cooperating with him rather than ruining his life. The case was closed right before his heat was due, and he had managed to convince Sarah to take pity on him and help him through his next heat. She still hadn’t entirely forgiven him over the near-death experience and they weren’t dating, but as a doctor she saw the necessity of a friend in times of need. It wasn’t as if she would get nothing out of it, anyway. John was a damn good shag at the worst of times and when he was in heat… It would be a very satisfactory exchange of favours. He could feel the warmth starting to gather in his abdomen. Yes, very satisfactory.

As he packed his overnight bag, John thought back over the four pips Sherlock had solved. The woman in the car and the Carl Powers shoes, the man in the middle of Piccadilly Circus and the thing with Janus Cars, the elderly blind woman and the murder of Connie Prince (that had been solved, it hadn’t been Sherlock’s fault she had tried to tell him about Moriarty) and the young boy in the case of the fake Vermeer. All solved, and the pink phone had been silent ever since. Well, it had only been a day, but that was enough.

John clattered down the stairs and looked for Sherlock to tell him he was going out. Not seeing him John called out, “I’m going over to Sarah’s.” He decided not to go into detail. Sherlock would know what he meant.

“Look at the turn-ups on his jeans!”

John glanced down at the cords he was wearing, then sighed. Sherlock was shouting at the telly again. Ever since the Connie Prince case, Sherlock had developed an unhealthy obsession with crap telly. It would probably wear off, but there was no talking to him in the meantime. John quietly left the flat without attempting it.

Out on Baker Street, John debated walking to Sarah’s or hailing a cab. He was only in early heat, it would be safe to walk if he wanted to, but then he would arrive at Sarah’s already sweating from carrying his duffle. No, better to call a cab and get there with plenty of time to settle in and have a drink before his full heat struck. He raised his hand and was pleasantly surprised when a taxi arrived almost instantly. Finally, one heat where everything was going as planned. About time too.

John was therefore disappointed on several levels when the taxi swung into a sharp left turn and started heading off in the wrong direction. He shouted at the driver and tried to open the door to leap out, but it was locked and he was once again being kidnapped. Even worse, this time he didn’t think it was Mycroft.

**____________________**

John had been tied to a chair, beaten and interrogated for almost five hours, but the worst part was that they hadn’t given him anything to drink. He was in full heat now. He could feel his pants were wet with his lubrication, and his raised body temperature was burning off liquid at a rate that required replacement. His mouth was unpleasantly dry. Soon he wouldn’t be able to talk even if he wanted to.

He was just wondering if he should try to ask for a drink, or if that would just precipitate another beating, when Moriarty himself walked into the room. It was evident from the way everyone suddenly jumped to attention that the boss himself was here.

Moriarty was not as tall as John had expected, he only had an inch or two on John himself. He was elegantly dressed in a bespoke suit and his hands were pale and soft – the kind of boss who preferred others to handle the guns and sharp objects then.

Moriarty walked around John’s chair, looking at him from all angles. John did not give him the satisfaction of craning his neck to see him.

“Well, I’m not seeing it,” he finally remarked. “Whatever it is about you that Sherlock finds _so_ interesting,” he rolled his eyes, “I’m just not seeing it.” He leaned in closer over John and made a show of scenting the side of his neck. John was tempted to try to bite him, but he was careful enough not to get quite that close.

“Uh-oh, maybe I was wrong. Maybe _everyone_ was wrong?” He raised one eyebrow at John. “All the papers say that Sherlock has secretly claimed you for his Omega and that you two share torrid heats together in your flat while pretending to the world that you are both respectable bachelors.” His lips pursed in disgust, either pretended or real, John wasn’t sure. “But now I detect the unmistakable scent of unbonded Omega – Sherlock hasn’t bonded you after all. I wonder why that might be?” Moriarty tapped one finger on his chin as he pretended to think.

“Could it be…” his eyes widened in a show of surprise. “Did you tell him about your sordid past as a service Omega? He’s practically aristocracy and pure as an ascetic monk. Did he reject you Johnny? Did he refuse to sully his long pale hands by touching your well-used body?”

He walked another circuit around John’s chair. “No, I see by your body language that it isn’t so. Interesting. What could it be then?” He made another show of scenting John. “Because you smell pretty good to me, Johnny, and I don’t usually lower myself to consorting with Omegas. I generally prefer the company of my own kind. You haven’t been well rogered until an enormous Alpha cock has taken you hard and fast from behind, eh, Johnny? Of course _you_ know what I mean, don’t you Johnny?” He raised his eyebrows and gave an exaggerated leer. “Is that what Sherlock likes too? Maybe _both_ of you are lusting after little old me?” He gave an inappropriate giggle. The obviously fake emotions were starting to get on John’s nerves.

“But should I make an exception for you? If I took you to bed, would you make it worth my while?” Standing behind John he touched one cold finger lightly to the back of John’s neck. John couldn’t repress a shudder.

Moriarty giggled again. “It would be rather fun to send you back to Sherlock with my scent all over you, but there’s no time, no time. We have an appointment!” He clicked his fingers and said to the room at large, “Bring him.”

**____________________**

John was sweating heavily now, the heat hormones and the weight of the jacket and Semtex wrapped around him combining to make him thoroughly uncomfortable. There was a man with a gun right next to him, and Moriarty had assured him there were snipers all around the pool. Moriarty had disappeared after a quick sound check to make sure that John could hear his whispers through the earpiece. That had been quite a nasty sensation, to have to listen to Moriarty whispering suggestive things in his ear and having to repeat them aloud. Moriarty had made quite a show of getting aroused to the sound of John’s voice saying dirty things, but then he had disappeared. Presumably they were waiting for Sherlock to show up.

It must have been nearly half an hour before John finally heard Sherlock’s voice echoing around the pool. The actual words were too distorted for him to make out, but the voice in John’s ear prompted him to get up and walk out to where Sherlock could see him.

The dismay on Sherlock’s face at seeing John made Moriarty giggle in John’s ear. Clearly he was close by and could see everything that was going on. John himself was not at all inclined to laugh. John automatically repeated everything said through the earpiece and tried not to think about his own voice making threats to his best friend.

Moriarty could not resist appearing himself, of course. His opening line was typically suggestive. “Is that a British Army Browning L9A1 in your pocket,” he smiled nastily and licked his lips, “or are you just pleased to see me?”

“Both,” replied Sherlock, trying not to look rattled by Moriarty’s sudden appearance.

“I have _loved_ this little game of ours. Playing gay for you – did you like the little touch with the underwear? I could be more than playing though, you know.” Moriarty let his gaze roam insolently over Sherlock’s body. “I know your little secret. John told me.”

Sherlock’s eyes flickered to John, though his expression was too well-disciplined to show either shock or dismay.

Moriarty rolled his eyes. “Not literally, of course. He’s too obedient for that , but I scented that you haven’t bound him. From there it is only a short deduction to realize that you must not be interested in Omegas, even as well-trained as this one. And then there’s the fact that _you_ asked _me_ to meet you here at midnight. Mmm, what else did you have in mind apart from handing over the missile plans? Was there another kind of missile you wanted to see? Did you want a closer look at me, in person?” He held his arms out and twirled around. “Eat your heart out.”

He sauntered closer to Sherlock so that John could not longer hear what they were saying. From their body language he and Sherlock were exchanging more flirtatious insults which culminated in Sherlock handing over a memory stick. John presumed it did not actually contain the missile plans. Those had been given back to Mycroft earlier, so this must be a dummy memory stick. John would never know, as Moriarty tossed it carelessly into the pool. Apparently its only use had been as a prop, an excuse for Sherlock and Moriarty to meet.

Then John had an idea. John was a weapon himself now. He was wrapped in enough explosives to take out the whole pool complex. The problem with weapons is that they often have two edges. John did not give himself time to think about it – he hurled himself forward and grabbed Moriarty by the neck. He panted out, “Sherlock! Run!” as he plastered himself and all his explosives against Moriarty’s back – and was horrified to see a laser sight appear on Sherlock’s forehead. John backed off immediately. It appeared Moriarty held all the cards.

Just when it seemed all over, that they were helpless in Moriarty’s hands, inexplicably, he chose to leave. John suddenly felt the full weight of the Semtex and the exhaustion of  six hours of unrelieved tension and an unsatisfied heat hit him like a train and his legs trembled. Sherlock had to half support him as he stripped the jacket and explosives off him and threw it as far from both of them as he could manage. He dashed out the door in pursuit of Moriarty leaving John to drop to the floor almost fainting, barely managing to steady himself against the wall of one of the change cubicles.

Sherlock and John had just caught their breath and decided that it was all finished for the night, when Moriarty reappeared. They were caught. No bargaining chips, nothing to tempt him to deal with them, nothing to say, nowhere to go. John’s grasp of military tactics told him there was only one weapon that counted, but would Sherlock come to the same conclusion? John had already offered his life, but how would Sherlock value his own life in the balance?

Sherlock glanced at John as he lowered the aim of the pistol to the explosives on the floor. In that moment John saw it all, almost became the mind reader that people often thought Sherlock. Sherlock played the Great Game, and winning was the only thing that mattered. Sherlock would unhesitatingly sacrifice his life in order to win – and he would also sacrifice John’s. John nodded, half to himself. This was as it should be. They would die together in order to stop Moriarty. For John it was about saving people, just as was when he was a soldier and when he was a doctor. For Sherlock it would only ever be about winning the Game. If dying together was the only togetherness they could have, John would take it.

They were all jolted from their final thoughts by the sound of Moriarty’s phone ringing. He rolled his eyes in mock exasperation that the moment had been interrupted, and answered it. After a short conversation, Moriarty apparently decided he had better things to do that day than die with Sherlock and John. He opted for a strategic retreat, and with a click of his fingers drew his snipers after him, leaving Sherlock and John to their own devices.

With the sudden relief of tension and his rapidly dropping blood pressure John should have known better than to try to stand up. However, instinct overrode his medical knowledge in this instance. All John wanted was to go to Sherlock, his Alpha. He stood, and passed out.

**____________________**

Sherlock wrestled the semi-conscious John into a cab. By the time they arrived back at the flat, John was awake, but shaking all over with the combination of the adrenaline wearing off and his heat hormones smashing through his body without an outlet. Sherlock had to half-drag half-carry him up the stairs.

“Bathroom or bedroom?” Sherlock panted as they arrived on the first floor landing.

“Bed,” John gasped. Sherlock grunted an affirmative noise and tackled the second set of stairs.

By the time they reached John’s bedroom they were both out of breath, and John was making small whimpering noises that he tried to suppress but couldn’t. Sherlock practically threw him onto his bed where he instantly flipped over onto his back. He started clawing at his zip while frantically wriggling to get his trousers off, getting himself tangled up as he did so.

“Sherlock, help me!” he moaned. “Come here, I need you.” John’s usual cool judgement was long gone, drowned in an overwhelming tide of hormones. If only Sherlock would join him on the bed it would all be right, he just knew it. The heat shimmer rising off him would force Sherlock’s body to cooperate. It had worked on reluctant Alphas before, even Moriarty had felt it. He could make Sherlock feel it too. He held out his arms, silently begging Sherlock to lie down in his embrace.

Sherlock stared at him from the doorway, his gaze full of… compassion? Something more? But then he shook his head slowly.

“It won’t work John,” he said. “I can’t give you what you need.” He left the room, closing the door softly behind himself.

John groaned with despair, and reached over to his bedside table for the contents of his bottom drawer.


	19. Chapter 19

Sherlock and John were sitting in the living room when there was a knock at the door.

“Joe is here!” said John excitedly. “Stay there, and I’ll bring him up and introduce you.”

Sherlock looked up from his newspaper with an expression that said he had had no intention of moving. However, when he heard two strange voices at the door instead of one, he put the paper aside and descended the stairs to investigate.

He was greeted by the astonishing sight of John hoisted in the air by two big hands on his arse and his thighs wrapped firmly around the waist of a huge blond marine, while the marine covered his face and neck with kisses. Another marine was standing a bit further back in the doorway, probably awaiting his turn to similarly ravish John.

Sherlock cleared his throat loudly to announce his presence. The marine unhurriedly finished licking his way down John’s neck before finally allowing John to slide down his body and land on his feet.

John was a little flushed as he introduced them. “This is Sherlock, my flatmate. Sherlock, this is Joe, and er, Joe’s current wingman whose name I didn’t catch…”

 _Probably too busy tongue-wrestling with Joe_ , thought Sherlock. Not that he cared what John did with his tongue, of course. John had played tonsil hockey with plenty of girlfriends and that had never bothered Sherlock like this did, for reasons which Sherlock did not currently care to analyze.

The other marine stepped forward with his hand outstretched. “Dafydd, my friends call me Dai.”

“Joe. Dafydd,” acknowledged Sherlock coldly, with perfect Welsh pronunciation but without taking the offered hand.

John broke the awkward silence by saying, “Let’s go upstairs, shall we?”

They all trooped up to the 221B living room, where the two marines dumped their packs just inside the doorway. Joe glanced around and threw himself down on the sofa, annoying Sherlock with his untoward familiarity. Sherlock could not but feel uncomfortable with two strange Alphas invading his space and taking liberties with his John.

“Nice place you have here. Small, but cosy, yeah? Are the bedrooms upstairs?”

John stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, rubbing the back of his neck. He was embarrassed, Sherlock realized.

“Well, my bedroom is upstairs and there’s room for one on the sofa here. I wasn’t expecting two of you, you see. Joe’s email only mentioned that he was coming to stay…”

“Aw, John!” Joe protested. “I know you don’t know Dai, but he’s my wing and a great guy. You’re not suggesting we two go to your room and leave him out here on the sofa, are you?”

John blushed violently and seemed at a loss for words.

“No, you mor-“ Sherlock caught sight of John’s angry glare and swiftly changed his wording, “marine, he meant to offer _you_ the sofa and sleep alone in his room. As he has a perfect right to do. Whatever went on in the army, he’s not your Omega now.”

“He’s not yours either,” returned Joe hotly. “His neck doesn’t wear your collar and his scent is pure unbonded Omega.”

Sherlock put his hand on John’s shoulder and leaned over him deliberately, as if he were scenting John’s hair. “No, we live and work together, but we aren’t bonded…” he trailed off suggestively, leaving the ‘yet’ unspoken.

“He’s been living with you for months already. If you aren’t bonded then either you’re gay or there must be something wrong with you.” Joe sneered.

It wouldn’t have been obvious to the two marines, but John felt Sherlock freeze against his back. John willed Sherlock to read his mind and know that he hadn’t, that he would never share Sherlock’s secrets without his permission.

Joe didn’t notice and continued, “Did a criminal cut off your prick or something? Is that why you became a detective? Because any _whole_ Alpha would immediately snap up our John!”

John felt Sherlock start breathing again as Joe’s barb went wide of the mark. Sherlock simply raised one eyebrow and spoke in a smooth voice overlaid with generous lashings of false sympathy. “Jokes and insults based on penis size usually indicate some kind of insecurity. You need not worry. John is the soul of discretion, and would never tell on you if you _did_ have anything to be insecure about.” Sherlock’s dismissive glance at Joe’s crotch before returning to stare directly into his face implied everything that was coolly insulting.

Joe leapt to his feet and confronted Sherlock directly. When they stood face to face Sherlock realized that Joe was one of the few men taller than himself. Joe was wider too, and combat trained. Sherlock doubted he could take him if it came to a fight.

Joe gestured angrily down at John, pinned between them as they stood almost chest to chest. “It doesn’t matter whether you work together or play football together – if you aren’t bonded then it’s _his_ choice who shares his room, not yours.”

Sherlock shot back, “If we _were_ bonded it would _still_ be his choice. He’s an Omega, not a doormat.”

John interrupted, “I’m right here you know.”

Sherlock and Joe both looked down at John between them. John placed a palm in the middle of each of their chests and pushed them apart with a hard shove. “Hey, Alpha boys, back off. Let’s have some dinner together. After dinner, Joe, I’m really sorry but I don’t think there is room for two of you here. It’s a small flat. If you’d told me ahead that Dai was coming I maybe could have sorted something out, but as it is…” he shrugged. “Let’s have dinner and you can catch me up on all the unit gossip before you go.”

Sherlock sniffed. “I’m not hungry. I’ll leave you to catch up with your old army mates, John.” They all pretended not to hear the stress laid on the word ‘old’ as Sherlock stalked off to his room. Soon they heard the sounds of him torturing his violin.

John rolled his eyes with affectionate exasperation. “Sherlock will be in a snit for the rest of the night. He won’t eat, so what we have is up to you. Would you boys prefer Chinese or Indian? There are good local places that deliver.”

“Curry please,” said Joe immediately. “The Afghan curries use different spices or something. I’ve been dying for a proper British chicken tikka.”

“You know the real problem is that the Afghan curries don’t use chicken!” joked Dai.

“Chicken tikka it is!” announced John. “So, Joe, tell me. Does the Captain still have his secret supplier of lemon butter? Or should I send some back with you?”

Joe snorted a laugh, “If you have some lying around, more lemon butter would never go to waste!”

The rest of the evening passed quickly with pleasant reminiscences and old army jokes brought out and polished up to be used again. Joe and Dai were easy together with a smooth camaraderie that made John almost miss being part of the unit again. Almost, but not quite enough to invite them both to stay the night in his room.

Finally, they shouldered their packs and jumped into the cab that John had called for them. Joe left last, kissing John deeply in the doorway of the flat. His hands roamed down John’s back, but he stopped and dropped them away as he felt John’s spine stiffen in an unspoken resistance. He pulled back and looked down into John’s face.

“I was going to offer to visit on my own tomorrow, but I guess maybe that might not be the best idea.”

“Er, maybe we could just leave it at tonight.” John replied. “It was great to see you again and hear all the news. My regards to the boys, and to Kate, of course.”

“My regards to Sherlock,” answered Joe. “I hope he appreciates what a good… flatmate he has in you.”

As he closed the door, John hoped so too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, apologies for a short chapter and a slow update, but I'm afraid this story is going to update even more slowly for a while. I've just had some surgery and it hasn't gone as smoothly as I had hoped. I've had a blood transfusion but I'm still very under the weather. I love this story and I want to get it right so I don't want to rush it when I'm not up to it. Thanks for bearing with me!


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks and credit once again to the amazing Ariane DeVere for her transcript of the episode “Scandal in Belgravia” to which I referred constantly, even when I blatantly misquoted it.

John paced the hall recalling their conversation with Mycroft and trying not to punch any walls. Mycroft had been cold, taunting and _cruel_. Knowing what John now knew about Sherlock, he could not see how Mycroft could be so flippant about Sherlock’s lack of interest and experience in sex. He had caused it – did he not see that it was indecent to tease and laugh at Sherlock about it? In the middle of Buckingham Palace and in front of strangers as well! John consciously loosened his jaw again and reminded himself not to grind his teeth.

John had been so completely taken aback by Mycroft’s bald-faced impudence that it had been Sherlock who had reminded him to put down his teacup when they left. John was pleased that Sherlock had got back at Mycroft in one spiteful little way, though. He had stolen an ashtray as a souvenir, just because John had said he wanted one. John felt warm and fuzzy inside at the thought, when he wasn’t busy imagining throwing the ashtray at Mycroft’s head, that was.

They had planned their subterfuge to get into Irene Adler’s house, and it had all gone very well, except for the fact that Sherlock was now in that room, alone with Irene Adler. John had been shocked and even Sherlock had shown surprise when Irene greeted them wearing nothing at all apart from lipstick, earrings and about a litre of perfume. John’s scent receptors had gone into overdrive at the no doubt illegal wall of pheromones she presented. There were enough on-switches in her scent to excite an impotent jellyfish, and John found himself immediately and painfully erect. He was an off-heat Omega, how must this onslaught affect an Alpha? No wonder they couldn’t keep their hands off her!

And yet, could this display affect Sherlock? John wondered. Even a bathtub-full of pheromones might not reach him if his receptors were still blocked. Sherlock looked at Irene with discomfort, but his trousers were undisturbed. John wondered what he saw – to John, Irene’s body screamed sex, but nothing else. The rest of her was a blank – apart from sex, she did not appear to be anyone. It was a rather strange sensation for John. He had always assumed that it was Alphas who saw everyone solely in terms of sex, but looking at Irene John could see nothing but sexually available Omega. It was like all the other body language channels were broadcasting static. John hoped that Sherlock could make more of her than he could. He checked his watch and then picked up a magazine from one of the hall tables. He pulled out the cigarette lighter and carefully applied it to the end of the rolled up magazine, and waited.

**# # # # #**

When Irene walked into the room, Sherlock had an uncomfortable sensation like suddenly going blind. Trying to deduce her was like trying to bang his head against a wall of fog. There was just nothing there. Sherlock flicked his gaze to John to reassure himself that he wasn’t going mad. No, John was there, reliable and readable as ever. The details of his morning shower and shave, his night before with Stanford, his guilt about his sister – they were all there to be read just as usual.

Sherlock stared again at Irene; nothing. Her smile was not happiness, her lipstick was not for going out, her nakedness was not for sex. She talked a lot about sex but everything was a ploy, an attempt at manipulation. Nothing made sense. He felt like he was trying to work a maze while blindfolded. Was this how normal people felt all the time?

He looked again at John for reassurance, and realized something he had overlooked. John was embarrassed and sexually aroused. By Irene? Sherlock felt a sudden flood of jealousy. First Moriarty, then Joe, now Irene. Was everyone else in the world trying to get in bed with his John? Fighting free of his emotional response, Sherlock read John again more closely and realized something else. John’s body was keen but his lips were tight. He was aroused against his will. It seemed odd and unlikely, but despite John’s bodily response, he did not like or want to like Irene. Hmmm. Was it possible that she had some illegal pheromonal perfume that forced people to want sex with her? If so, how could Sherlock use this information? Would she be so used to using her sex appeal that she would neglect other methods of information extraction?

Sherlock tried to lighten the atmosphere by saying, “I don’t think John knows where to look.”

Irene was not helping the situation. She was enjoying John’s discomfort. She said slyly, “I think he knows exactly where to look.” Then to Sherlock she added, “I’m not sure about you though.” Her cool gaze said that she knew he was not interested in her, but she did not know why not.

Once the photographs were confirmed to be in the room, Sherlock instructed John to leave to carry out the rest of the plan. Talking to Irene was a continuous fencing match. She was clever and kept her own interests firmly in the front of her mind. It would have been interesting, even challenging, except for the fact that she kept falling back onto the subject of sex. Hints about what people _liked_ , hints that she had intimate contacts with powerful people; after a while it became repetitive. She seemed to think sex an endlessly interesting subject, but Sherlock had never found it titillating in the slightest, and now it was getting positively boring.

He was relieved when the smoke alarm sounded and the next phase of the game started. At the sound Irene’s eyes darted with alarm to her most precious possession – the safe behind the mirror. Yes. Now Sherlock was back on track, back on top again, doing what he knew how to do. He just had to keep Irene from focusing on sex – she was better at that than he was, but when she was just acting like a normal person, then he could _beat_ her. And winning at the game was better than sex.

Sherlock was just addressing the problem of deducing the code to open the safe when the door burst open and Sherlock was horrified to see John being dragged in by a thug with a gun. He was shoved to the floor and the gun applied to the back of his neck and who could possibly _think_ with his best friend on the floor? For the first time in his life, Sherlock deduced as if the life of the person he cared about most was at stake.

Irene. Six digit code. She was self-obsessed so clearly something about herself. She was also sex obsessed. Irene and sex. Something observable or that she had hinted at. Yet she very obviously had nothing in her possession. Her age? Her birthday? Not possible to deduce someone’s birthday out of thin air, not even for him. Not her clothing, her shoes or her earrings. Her makeup? Women’s makeup often had number codes but he didn’t know them. Perfume? No, she was wearing Casmir, not a numbered perfume. Think! _Think_!

Sherlock glanced at Irene. Would she help? All their lives depended on his working this out. A clue, just one little clue? She caught his eye and glanced pointedly downwards. Down. The floor? His coat? Herself? What about her? Her body? A six digit code related to a woman’s body? Or two three-digit combinations? Or three two-digit numbers?

He had it.

Sherlock turned and slowly, knowing Irene was watching, punched in the coded measurements for her body. He gave a mental snort. Self-obsessed, indeed. He looked at her with triumph, prepared to see her concede. Would it be with an ironic head tilt, or a nod to a worthy enemy? She had been a reasonably interesting adversary.

No, none of the above. She was trying to tell him something else, something urgent. The code was right, but there was something else. She indicated the gun of the man behind her. Something about a gun, urgent to know before opening the safe… of course, the safe was armed.

Irene knew, he knew, now how to tell John? How to keep him clear from the line of fire? It would be horribly ironic to deduce the code and save all their lives, only for John to be shot by Sherlock himself as he opened the safe. He needed a code, a way to tell John to get down that would be understood by a soldier. Soldier’s codes, soldier’s slang. How would one soldier tell another to get down? Of course!

“Vatican cameos!”

Yes, John! Clever John, who had been in the military for years and still had a soldier’s reflexes, hit the floor as the safe opened. One of the armed thugs was shot, serves him right. And there inside the safe, the camera phone that everybody wanted. Yes, winning was _definitely_ better than sex. Nothing could ever feel better than winning.

**# # # # #**

John wanted to laugh, but sighed. For one moment all the pieces had come together. Sherlock had opened the safe, found the pictures, and saved all their lives with special attention to making sure John didn’t get shot. Fantastic. Then Irene Adler had ruined it all. She had drugged Sherlock, taken back the phone and escaped, leaving John to explain to the police a half-conscious Sherlock with a gun and a dead CIA agent. The one blessing of the night was that Lestrade had been involved. Knowing Sherlock’s methods, he had just shrugged and told John to take him home. He knew Sherlock was intractable enough when sober and fully conscious. They would have to file statements another time.

It was a rather amusing role-reversal though. On at least two occasions so far it had been Sherlock dragging a hormone-addled John to bed, now it was John’s turn to return the favour. No-one would believe that all this ‘putting to bed’ of each other had ended with sex exactly never. He’d counted. Twice.

John tucked the sheet over Sherlock in the futile hope that it would stop him from getting up again and wandering vaguely around the room. It hadn’t worked the last four times, but surely this time it would? He smoothed the sheet over Sherlock’s shoulders and told himself he should leave. There was no point torturing himself by standing in Sherlock’s bedroom thinking…

Sherlock mumbled, “I’m fine. I’m absolutely fine.”

“Yes, you’re great,” John soothed. “Now, I’ll be next door if you need me.”

“Why would I need you?” Sherlock asked, his wide with honest wonder.

Ouch. “No reason at all,” John returned shortly, and closed the door. He sighed. He wished there might be a reason one day, but feared there never would. At least if Sherlock never needed John he also never needed Irene Adler. He scrubbed his hands over his face and went to make himself a cup of tea.

**# # # # #**

John had always liked Christmas, and this year he and Mrs Hudson had convinced Sherlock to cooperate in hosting a small Christmas party. Just some drinks with friends on Christmas Eve, as everyone else seemed to have family commitments the next day. John was happily putting the final touches on the Christmas decorations in the flat when he heard Sherlock’s phone make that infuriating and obscene sigh that was Irene’s text alert. Out of the corner of his eye John watched as Sherlock opened the message, read it, and slipped the phone back in his pocket with no discernible change of expression. John tried not to wonder what she was saying. Flirting, obviously. Invitations to meet, very likely. Offers of sex, possibly. In any case, Sherlock was not responding so at least Irene wasn’t having it all her own way. Still, fifty-six messages! That was excessive.

John knew that Sherlock was not likely to take an interest in hosting the evening, so he had recruited Jeanette to help. She was a lovely Beta, she did her best to help him out whenever he needed it whether it was with his heats or hosting parties. She was generous, she was pretty enough, the sex was fun and everything, but somehow John always felt guilty about her. He paid as much attention to her as he could, well, as much as he could spare from Sherlock… and that was the problem in eight words, wasn’t it?

The awful sighing moan rang through the flat again: fifty-seven. Ridiculous! And what was even more ridiculous was that John was counting Sherlock’s text messages from his maybe-girlfriend who wasn’t even here, instead of paying attention to his own actual-girlfriend who was really present. John gritted his teeth and told himself he wasn’t even interested in whatever was in the box for Sherlock which had mysteriously appeared on their mantelpiece.

He told himself that, but he lied. He followed Sherlock and overheard him telling Mycroft that tonight Irene Adler would be found dead, having relinquished her ‘protection’. John felt a thrill, followed immediately by shame. What kind of friend was he that he could be happy when his best friend’s girlfriend was killed horribly? Not only that, but the only person he had ever seemed the slightest bit interested in pursuing? John was an awful, awful friend – and he still had to fight down a flash of triumph at the idea of Irene lying dead on a slab somewhere, and Sherlock’s heart now free and in need of comforting…

Which of course lead to his being hopelessly unfocused when it came to Jeanette, and he even had to remind himself that he was supposed to be sorry when she was gone. Well, it was all for the best. Now he needed to focus on Sherlock. Even Mycroft acknowledged his importance in Sherlock’s life. Sherlock needed him, and God, it was good to be needed.

**# # # # #**

The taxi ride back from the Battersea Power Station was a quiet one. Both John and Sherlock were trying not to think, trying not to speak, trying not to remember what the not-dead-after-all Irene had revealed. They both had known, and yet to have someone else say it out loud…

Irene had pointed out that John was jealous, and he was. Terribly and totally consumed with jealousy when he thought Sherlock cared for Irene. Sherlock knew already from several heats ago that John wanted him, but did he think it was just a heat-haze phenomenon? Had he known that John… that John loved him all the time? Irene had mentioned that little fact twice, actually. The first time had been at her house when observing the pattern John’s fists had made on Sherlock’s face. John was not sure if Sherlock had taken it on board the first time, if he had, he hadn’t mentioned it.

Then Irene had pointed out that they were a couple. John knew it, God, he’d been bloody nesting for Sherlock for months. He bought groceries, he cooked, he cleaned – about the only thing he hadn’t done was go shopping for baby clothes! How did Sherlock feel about that? Did Sherlock want… no, don’t even go there. He had a contraceptive implant in, so there was no urgency to deal with any of it.

John had tried to deny to Irene that he had any sexual interest in Sherlock, and she had shrugged it off as the pathetic _non sequitur_ that it was. She already knew that they were not bonded, she knew about sex too, and the fact that they weren’t having any. But equally clearly she knew that John, at least, wanted it. Did she know if Sherlock wanted it from John? He wished he could ask her, but of course she was the competition. She would take Sherlock from him if she could, she had admitted it.

John knew all these things. Sherlock knew all these things. They resolutely looked out opposite windows of the taxi and did not speak of them.

**# # # # #**

Winning was sweet, winning was heady and wild, better than the rush of nicotine or cocaine. Winning was… incomplete if he could not share it with his John. Sherlock had come home from his final meeting with Mycroft and Irene full of his own triumphant cleverness and wanting to tell John all about it. But John had already been too deep in his regular hormonal upheaval to have anything to say other than, “Good for you.” It was completely inadequate. After that he had retreated upstairs with his filled water bottle, and Sherlock knew he would not see him for at least a day, until the need for food drove him downstairs again.

Sherlock shut the door to his bedroom and tried not to hear the sounds of John crying and moaning his way through the heat. It was excruciating agony to hear, to want to help and to know that his very presence made it worse. It was also painful when John left to go to one of his various other partners for his heats; Sarah, Jeanette, and the others whose names he deleted as quickly as possible. Sherlock wanted John, with every part of his being except the one that John needed.

Sherlock wondered if Mycroft could help him. This was all Mycroft’s fault, after all. Then he remembered Mycroft’s words at the morgue, spoken over not-Irene’s body. “All lives end. All hearts are broken. Caring is not an advantage.”

No, Mycroft would not help. Mycroft probably thought he had done Sherlock a favour, making sure he could never fall into the clutches of a scheming Omega, never have his heart broken. Except that his heart _was_ breaking now, inch by inch, every day that John was within touching distance but forever out of his grasp.

Mycroft’s injection had put victory within his reach, and love forever out of it. He had been immune to Irene – in the end he had played her on her own ground and won. She had been beaten, she had begged and cried, and he had turned his back on her and walked away. It should have been the sweetest triumph of his life. But he knew he would gladly forfeit it all for John, if only he were ever given the chance to choose.


	21. Chapter 21

John’s head finally cleared after his heat, with the result that he was starving and there was nothing in the fridge. Well, not nothing, but nothing that he was prepared to eat. Sherlock had been exceptionally good about keeping him well provided with scrambled eggs during the four days of his heat, but it was also blatantly obvious that the man couldn’t cook anything other than eggs on toast, with or without baked beans. John felt the urge to add a little variety to his diet, which meant a trip to the shops.

He was just comparing the nutritional information on different brands of pasta sauce when his phone pinged for a text alert. Juggling his shopping basket, he scooped it out of his pocket and read the text message.

_What do you think of probiotics? SH_

What? John had a lot of thoughts about probiotics, but none that could be compressed into a text message. The simplest solution would be to get some, since presumably that was why Sherlock had texted while he was at the shop, and they could discuss the merits of alternative medicine when John got home.

_Do you want capsules or liquid? JW_

_Whichever is more biologically active. SH_

John thought, _Bloody hell, how should I know? I’m a doctor, not a naturopath._ Then on practical grounds he decided to get the capsules. At least if there were any left after Sherlock’s experiment they would keep for the next time one of them had a bout of food poisoning, which was practically inevitable.

_And some lemons. At least a dozen. And whatever liquorice is used to make tea. SH_

John couldn’t help wondering if these were for the same experiment, and started trying to imagine what kind of death could be related to probiotics, lemons and liquorice.

_What do you think about colonic cleansing? SH_

_Nothing that I can write in a text message. JW_

_This is all for you, you know. SH_

John decided to pick up some lemons, some liquorice tea and ignore any other text messages from Sherlock. Whatever bizarre experiment he was designing, John was not getting him the materials for a home attempt at colonic cleansing. Especially not if he thought he was going to try it on John!

As he reached the checkout, John heard one more text alert on his phone. He was busy with the chip and pin machine and did not manage to read the message until he was standing on the footpath outside the supermarket.

_Because I love you. SH_

As John was staring at the message in disbelief, another one appeared on the screen.

_And berries. Any kind except strawberries. SH_

John flagged down a cab and ordered it to Baker Street as fast as possible.

**# # # # #**

John slammed into the flat, dumping the shopping bags on the floor as he crossed the living room to stand over Sherlock, who was lying on the sofa with his eyes shut.

“What the hell is this?” John waved his phone at Sherlock.

Without opening his eyes Sherlock replied, “I’ve been thinking, and it seems to me that you being a doctor and in love with me could all work out very well.”

John crossed his arms over his chest and stared at Sherlock until he opened his eyes. “Right. How about we start this conversation from the beginning, please, while I’m here in the room? What is all this about wanting probiotics, lemons and liquorice tea because…” his voice failed him at the critical moment. John coughed and then continued in a smaller voice, “Did you mean it?”

Sherlock opened his eyes and rolled them at John. Bastard. He probably opened them just to do that.

“I would have thought it was obvious John.”

“Well, would you mind stepping me through it from the start? Remember I wasn’t here for the first part, and I don’t see what lemons and liquorice have to do with… anything.”

Sherlock swung himself around to sit on the sofa and wave his hands around as he spoke. Clearly, he had a new enthusiasm. Lemons? Berries? Or just possibly, John?

“I started thinking about Mycroft’s injection. Maybe I’ve been going about this all wrong. I had thought that just waiting for it to wear off might be enough, but it’s been years and clearly that hasn’t worked. So then I started looking into ‘body cleanses’ and ‘detoxification’. A lot of it has minimal scientific evidence behind it…”

“I’ll say,” interrupted John.

Sherlock shrugged, “But most of it sounds pretty innocuous. Even if it doesn’t work I won’t have lost anything. So I have to drink lemon water and liquorice tea for a week? I’ve gone longer without eating for cases, so I know that part won’t be a problem. And if it works, the payoff would be… Anyway, I’m not going to let a little thing like lack of proof stand in my way. Besides, if it works you could write it up and get a paper out of it. Everyone wins.”

“OK, I’m with you so far. You want to see if you can flush the chemicals out of your system. Great, good idea. What does that have to do with… your text about me?” Even now John couldn’t bring himself to say it. He had the ridiculous urge to read the text on his phone again, just to make sure it was real. He’d read it already at least twenty times, but he wanted to see it again.

“John, I’ve been effectively celibate for years and it never bothered me. I told you when we met that I was married to my work. Why do you think I suddenly want to change that? Start cleansing and rebooting my body? _Health kick_?" The sarcasm in the last two words was almost visible.

John shrugged and remained silent. He wanted to hear Sherlock say it to his face and not by text, dammit!

“It’s because of Irene.”

John felt the eager hope in his chest sink into his belly and become something much colder and less digestible. “What about Irene?” he said, trying for a neutral tone and probably failing miserably.

Sherlock shook his head violently, “No, I didn’t mean that! I meant that she was right about us, that day at the power station. We never talked about afterwards, but she said that we were a couple, that you loved me and were attracted to me.”

“Yes,” said John tightly, “but you’ve known that for a while already. Ever since that heat when I begged you to stay with me, after we confronted Moriarty. You’ve never seemed to think it worth mentioning before.”

“And then playing the game with Irene. I thought that nothing could be better than beating her at her own game. I thought winning was what it was all about.”

“And isn’t it?”

“Well, winning is part of it, but not all of it. In that moment, I came home and wanted to share it with you, like I share the work with you…”

John interrupted, “So you want some kind of threesome with me sharing you with the Work?”

Sherlock shook his head violently, “No, no! That’s not what I’m trying to say. You _already_ share the work with me. You are the only one who has ever done that. Do you think I let just anyone work with me?”

“God, no.”

“You are already my blogger, my flat mate, my… I want to purge myself and get over the effects of this injection so that I can be the Alpha you need.” Sherlock tossed his head irritably. “I’m a genius, I can beat this. I won’t offer you some kind of half man…” he trailed off into muttering in which John could not distinguish any proper words, although there was something that sounded like ‘Joe’ which John decided to ignore.

John sucked in a deep breath. So that was it. Sherlock really was doing this for him.

“Does that mean that you…?”

“Yes. You’re a doctor and I want you to help me.”

“Oh.”

‘I’ve decided to start with the basic lemon cleanse and juice fast for a week. I thought that would make the colonic cleanse part easier anyway, then if that doesn’t work to follow it up with a week of organic fruit and superfoods – did you get any berries, by the way?”

“Er, no. I was already on the way home when I got that message _.” And my mind had been blown away by the text that we are apparently not going to discuss._

“Never mind, I’ll only do that if the first part doesn’t work. Of course I’ll need you here to document my responses to your scent. It really is very convenient you being both an Omega and a doctor. So, anything I’ve missed?”

“Actually, yes.”

Sherlock lifted one eyebrow and gestured for John to continue.

“You need to clean up your other habits – the smoking and nicotine patches and the coffee. I’m going to assume that you are off cocaine, but if you aren’t, then that too.”

Sherlock looked aghast.

John continued mercilessly, “If you are really serious about doing this fast, I suggest going cold turkey. It will be hard at the start but the results are likely to be quicker, and I get the impression that’s what you want.”

Sherlock swallowed. John watched the movement of his very long, pale neck and wondered where all this was going to lead. He allowed himself to wonder what it might mean if it actually worked? Sherlock would be scenting him every day as he purged his body – one day would he turn and kiss him? What about John’s next heat? That was at least a month away, who knew where they would be by then? Not John, certainly.

Sherlock nodded decisively. “All right. Anything else?”

John tapped his finger on his chin. “There is some evidence that sweating out toxins may help. Ever been to a sauna?”

“No.”

“Worth a try, at least you might find it relaxing even if it doesn’t work in any other way.” _And God knows you will need relaxing if you are going cold turkey off everything_.

John realized something else. _This week is going to be hell…_

# # # # #

Three days into the week John wanted a murder. Preferably a serial killer, but he would settle for a large bank robbery. Anything, before he had to order a hit on Sherlock himself to stop the bloody _whining_. Sherlock had always had a bit of a penchant for drama, but seriously, the man acted like no-one had ever quit smoking before. Admittedly, it was quite possible that no-one had ever quit smoking, coffee, cocaine and solid food all at the same time, and while trying to fight off near-terminal boredom. John was about ready to go down to the Yard and beg Lestrade for fraud cases, cold cases, _anything_.

John was refraining from drinking tea, in sympathy with Sherlock’s total caffeine ban. They were both having liquorice tea, and it wasn’t as good a substitute as John had hoped. Sherlock was drinking his lemon concoction every few hours, but John drew the line at that. There was such a thing as too much togetherness.

John himself was a little on edge as well. His stomach was unsettled from the liquorice tea, most likely. He hadn’t changed anything else in his eating habits, and he certainly wasn’t nervous about the outcome of Sherlock’s experiment. His doctor-self knew that it was unlikely to work anyway. All these various drinks and ‘detox’ schemes and ‘cleanses’ had never been shown to do anything for anyone, especially not for a condition as serious as chemical castration.

John found himself wondering about Sherlock’s range of experiences prior to the injection incident. He had never asked Sherlock how old he had been when it had happened. Mycroft had sneeringly insinuated that Sherlock was a virgin – but was it true?

“YES!” shouted Sherlock, suddenly. “I’m a virgin, I’m totally inexperienced and even if this experiment works I probably won’t be able to please you as well as _Joe_ ,” the name was pronounced with immense scorn, “and all the Alphas who used to fuck you in the army. So we can stop this experiment right now if you like. You may never get the lover you want out of me.” Sherlock flopped down on the sofa, his face to the wall.

John was unsure which part of this speech to address first. He decided to start with the part Sherlock would be most comfortable with, since he was the one getting upset. “How did you know what I was thinking?”

Sherlock looked slightly surprised, but ever happy to display his genius he sat up and explained willingly enough, “You were looking at your tea cup with an expression of distaste, so it was clear that you were thinking about our caffeine ban and how much you want a real cup of tea. Then your eyes drifted to the kitchen but you didn’t get up to make yourself one, so you were probably thinking about the lemon drinks. Then your eyes wandered back to me, first looking at my face and stomach, obviously you were wondering how I’m coping with the fasting. Then your eyes drifted down my body, clearly thinking about other aspects of the problem such as whether or not it is likely to work. I note that you frowned at this point, so you must have your doubts.”

Sherlock took a deep breath before continuing, “You then glanced quickly towards the bookshelf and away, at the spot where you once suspected Mycroft hid a camera in the flat. Mycroft and my condition, other connections apart from the obvious? His comment that day at the Palace that I am a virgin. Your frown got even deeper at that point, so you were clearly wondering if going through all whole project is going to be worth it, even if it works (which it might not) only to get a lover who knows nothing about it and may not be able to please you as well as you are used to, with potentially hundreds of army Alphas on a base with you able to pick and choose between them all!” Sherlock threw up his hands in despair, “How can I compete with the pick of the Marines? Not just one at a time but three or four of them in your bed at once? I’ve read the advice columns on the internet for years, but have no actual hands-on experience. I’ve never even given or received a blow job, so you may as well give up on me now, I’ll never be able to please you. Why don’t you go back to Joe, or Bill, or Matt or all three at once and let them give it to you right upstairs and make me listen!” Sherlock sank back down to lie on the sofa, exhausted after his outpouring.

“That was amazing!” said John, with a smile. “You were right in all your factual deductions. That was in fact exactly what I was thinking. But you know what? You were also totally wrong.”

Sherlock turned his head just enough to scowl fiercely at John.

“You were wrong in jumping to conclusions about how I would feel about your lack of experience. I don’t remember frowning, but if I was it was probably because I was wondering about how to make it good for you. The first time can be a bit awkward and most people don’t have good memories of it, so if it is your first time it would be an honour and a responsibility that I would take seriously.” John hesitated a moment before continuing. “That being the case, it would be better if our first time took place outside of my heat. When I’m in heat I’m not as in control as I usually am, and I get pretty focused on what is going on with my own body – I wouldn’t be able to pay attention to you as much as I would want to, so let’s keep that in mind, eh?” John blushed suddenly at the assumption implied in his concern. “I mean, um, not that you have to give your virginity to me at all, of course. Because it might be an honour you want to bestow on someone else…”

“John, don’t be an idiot, please.” Sherlock returned crisply, now back on firm ground. “I’m doing this because I want to be with _you_. Why would I want anyone else? It isn’t like _I_ have hundreds of partners flocking around…”

John interrupted firmly, “If my history in the army is going to be a problem for you, spit it out now. Lots of people don’t like the idea of their lover being ‘used’ before they get there, but I’m well over thirty years old, for goodness’ sake. You weren’t expecting _me_ to be a virgin as well, I hope?”

Sherlock looked surprised at the idea. “Not at all. I think it is an advantage for at least one of us to know what they are doing. John, I’m a genius and a fast learner, but I’m still only one person. If you are used to being pleasured by two or three or four lovers at once, I couldn’t do that. And I don’t think I could share you, John. Those days would be over, for good.”

John snorted. “One of the bad things about being in the army is the lack of privacy. It was rather an ‘all or nothing’ situation. You saw how awkward that can get when Joe turned up with Dai, and just assumed I’d be fine with it.”

Sherlock glowered at the memory of that evening. “That was incredibly rude. People say I’m rude, but that was ridiculous.”

“No, no,” John hastened to correct him, “His behaviour was perfectly acceptable for when I was the Unit Omega. Then it seemed normal to all of us to go to bed in wingman pairs – it was more normal than not. But I’m glad that phase of my life is over, and I’ve no desire to return to it.” John realized with a start how heartfelt that last statement was, and wondered at himself. There was a time when his life was being part of the unit, and when he could never have imagined any other future for himself. Now, he couldn’t imagine going back. He was rather shocked and slightly uncomfortable at how quickly he had outgrown his past. “I’ve had four marines in my bed at once, yes, but I’m rather relieved that it is not likely to happen again. I don’t think I could keep up with the performance pressure now.”

“You really mean that,” said Sherlock wonderingly.

“Yeah, now come here and kiss me,” John smiled.

Sherlock stiffened in his seat without moving. “We still don’t know if this is going to work. Are you sure you want to start a relationship with me?”

John’s smile faded slightly, “I thought we were already in a relationship. Do you mean that without sex you don’t want an intimate relationship at all? There are lots of other things we can do together to have fun, you know.”

Sherlock shook his head stubbornly. “I’ve tried that, it doesn’t work. Sooner or later you would get frustrated with my lack of response to you and you would start to hate me and it would be worse than if we had never gone there!”

Sherlock was deducing himself into near-hysteria again. John knitted his brow, wondering why Sherlock was so stubborn on this point. He marvelled that he had never noticed it before. Lack of erections did not have to mean lack of relationships, yet to Sherlock it obviously had. Was this because Sherlock placed sex on some kind of pedestal, or had he had a traumatic experience? Regretting once again his lack of deducing ability, John decided the only way to know would be to ask.

“Sherlock,” asked John hesitantly, “Did you have a bad experience of some kind in the past that makes you think that? Do you really think I would hate you because of something you can’t help?”

Sherlock folded his arms over his chest and looked away at the window. “Victor Trevor. He was the one friend I ever had before you. He was an Omega, and he wanted to so we tried it, this ‘relationship’ thing. It didn’t last very long. At first he got frustrated that I never responded to him, then he started to blame me saying that I was too superior and arrogant to want the likes of him. By the end he hated me, called me ‘frigid’ and ‘freak’ and said he never wanted to set eyes on me again.” Sherlock lifted one shoulder ruefully. “I don’t want that to happen to us. If this doesn’t work,” he waved a hand down the length of his body “then we can continue as colleagues and flatmates, but not if we start an intimate relationship and it fails.”

“You forgot to add one factor to your deductions,” John said softly, moving across the room to Sherlock. “I’m not Victor. Even if this never goes any further, I’d still like to kiss you.” John leaned close, hovering within a few inches of Sherlock’s face but not touching him. “May I?”

Sherlock hesitated, “You won’t hate me if I can’t… If I can never…”

Their faces were so close John could feel Sherlock’s breath on his cheek, warm and slightly faster than usual. “I could never hate you. I love you. Have for a long time, as you probably know.”

“I know,” breathed Sherlock, “I love you too. Kiss me.”

Sherlock turned his head and John moved in until their lips met. They kissed slowly, and it was sweet and almost innocent. They both knew that it was not going to lead to sex, so they took their time and enjoyed it for what it was. John slid to his knees in front of where Sherlock sat on the sofa, but they discovered that made him slightly too low for convenient kissing. Sherlock urged John up onto his lap and that made their heights perfect. John threw his arms around Sherlock’s neck and Sherlock wrapped his long hands around John’s back, sliding them up under his jumper to gently massage his shoulder blades.

After several minutes, John pulled back a little to ask Sherlock, “Is there a reason you don’t want to open your mouth to me?”

Sherlock blinked at him in surprise. “Am I supposed to do that?”

John huffed a surprised laugh, “You’ve never heard of French kissing?”

Sherlock blushed and looked annoyed. “Of course. I just didn’t think you’d be _into_ that.” He tried to look superior and as if he was being considerate of John’s lack of experience.

John bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. “French kissing isn’t exactly kinky, but thank you for thinking of me. How about we give it a try and if you don’t like it we can stop?”

“Mmm, all right.”

John relaxed his mouth and let Sherlock experiment. At first he just formed his tongue into a point and poked it straight into John’s mouth. It wasn’t very sexy but it was so inexperienced and adorable that John smiled and opened his mouth a bit further. Encouraged, Sherlock next tried sweeping his tongue across John’s mouth, darting in and out as if daring John to chase him. John teased him a little with the tip of his own tongue, touching and withdrawing again out of reach.

After a few minutes of mutual teasing and exploration, John decided to take matters into his own hands (and lips) and show Sherlock how it needed to be done. Giving in and taking what he had wanted for so long, John slid one hand into Sherlock’s curls and the other up under his shirt and around his back. Controlling Sherlock’s head and pressing their bodies together, John took several long delicious minutes to demonstrate how kissing one’s lover really ought to be enjoyed.

When John finally drew back his head, Sherlock had his eyes closed and was panting through his parted lips. Gorgeous, wet, heart-shaped lips. John gave them one last kiss, then slid off Sherlock’s lap and pulled him to his feet.

“Come on then, time for another sauna. I want to give this every chance to work, so let’s do it by the book, eh?” John said.

Sherlock shook his head to clear it. “Yes, definitely. Every chance. Absolutely.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I’m afraid I’m showing my nerd credentials in this chapter. Kudos to those of you who picked up the Star Trek and ACD canon references! Also, I just love the idea of Sherlock declaring his intentions by text message – it got into my head until I just had to write it!


	22. Chapter 22

Three weeks into the ‘detox’ experiment Sherlock’s initial anxious excitement had given way to the calmness of despair. John suspected that Sherlock had started smoking again, but was reluctant to bring it up without proof. They were still frequenting the saunas every second day, but instead of excitedly trying to scent John’s sweat like he had at the beginning, now Sherlock just sat there enduring the heat without comment.

In the fourth week Sherlock gave up in disgust with the advice from the internet and dismissed with impatient scorn John’s contributions. He decided to go back to first principles and use basic chemistry to devise his own cleanse and purge regimen. John tried to tell him that no matter how good the theory, a week’s course of oral mineral oil was not going to be kind to his body.

“My object is not to be kind, John.” Sherlock had retorted. “My object is to purge the enemy within. I’ve researched depot drug preparations, and I find that they are designed to be injected into muscle, where the fat-soluble drug deposits are slowly absorbed into the body. This is why there is no ‘antidote’ as such, but time usually makes the effect dwindle away. If I’m to purge whatever chemicals are left in my body all this watery lemon rubbish won’t do anything. I need an oil-based substance and after some research I’ve decided to use a combination of castor oil and cod liver oil, blended with orange juice.”

“That sounds awful!” returned John. “How much castor oil are you talking about?”

“I think 60ml should do it with 10ml of cod liver oil, blended in an equal amount of orange juice.”

“Why orange juice?” choked John, still appalled at the idea of drinking a quarter cup of castor oil.

Sherlock shrugged. “One of the Ayurvedic sites suggested it, and I’m going to need something to help me get it down. I don’t really fancy drinking the oil straight.”

“Sherlock, this is going to be, um, rough on your bowels, if you know what I mean.” John tried to warn him.

Sherlock just sniffed. What was a small inconvenience when his larger goal was in sight?

**# # # # #**

Four hours later Sherlock discovered what John had meant was that castor oil is a laxative. A violent laxative which when taken with only orange juice and in the absence of solid food, causes stomach cramps and diarrhoea. Explosive diarrhoea. Explosive _oily_ diarrhoea which smells of fish.

Sherlock was in the loo groaning and complaining that John should have warned him, that John was a doctor and while Sherlock might be a genius he was a chemist and not a doctor and that if John had been taking due care this would never have happened. Besides, if this worked it would all be worth it and then who would be proven right, hmm? And they were nearly out of toilet paper, John should go shopping.

**# # # # #**

Two days after the disastrous oil purge experiment, Sherlock strolled into the kitchen in the middle of the morning. John was sitting at the table reading the newspaper. Sherlock leaned down to scent the back of John’s neck, as he had done every morning for the last month. He straightened up immediately, excited.

“John, I think I can scent something!”

John looked up but only raised one eyebrow. “Shaving cream?”

“No, no. I know what shaving cream smells like. This is different, a kind of herbal smell. Is that what you are supposed to smell like to Alphas?”

“No, actually,” replied John slowly. He didn’t want to disappoint Sherlock, but he did not think it was his Omega scent that Sherlock was detecting. After a month of endless disappointment John wanted to avoid inflicting more, but then he did not want to offer false hope either. “Most Alphas say I smell like…”

“Don’t tell me,” interrupted Sherlock. “Don’t bias the data.”

“Okay,” agreed John. “But I don’t smell herbal, I know that for sure. Alpha scents tend to be fruit and flowers and herbs. Omega scents tend to the spicy, especially when we are in heat. I don’t think I am yet, probably another week or so to go, but my base scent should be there and it definitely isn’t… Oh, I know what you’re picking up. I was trying out some of your other herbal teas. Check the cupboard and see if the smell matches.”

His face falling, Sherlock sniffed through the kitchen cupboard where the assorted herbal teas had been neglected since the second week of Sherlock’s cleanse. Sure enough, Sherlock was quickly able to deduce that John had been drinking ‘Celestial Sleepytime’ which was supposed to be a blend of chamomile and other relaxing herbs.

“I’m going out for a breath of air,” he muttered and slammed out of the flat.

 _That would be the nicotine-scented air,_ thought John to himself but he didn’t say it aloud.

Sherlock did not return to the flat before John had to leave for his shift at the surgery, and by the time John came home in the evening Sherlock had locked himself in his room. Apparently the morning’s disappointment had hit him harder than he wanted to admit.

**# # # # #**

A few days later Sherlock was still sulking around the flat not eating, although John found it difficult to tell if this was just a general Sherlock-being-stroppy form of not eating or if it was part of his ongoing detox scheme. John had one last idea which he wanted to broach to Sherlock, but it was going to take delicate timing.

Finally, John decided there would never be a good time to tackle Sherlock with his idea; he was going to have to just do it anyway. He was running close to his deadline. So that evening he made two cups of tea and put one down on the coffee table in front Sherlock, who was stretched out on the sofa with his eyes closed but could not possibly be asleep. It wasn’t possible to sleep 24 hours a day for weeks at a time. It also wasn’t possible to spend 24 hours a day in the Mind Palace, but it was sometimes hard to tell where one started and the other ended.

“Sherlock, I want to talk to you, please,” said John.

“So talk,” responded Sherlock without opening his eyes.

“Um, this is kind of a delicate matter. I’d appreciate it if you would sit up and look at me. It would make me feel better. It’s kind of personal.”

“You heat is approaching, probably next week. I’m aware,” said Sherlock still without opening his eyes.

“Yes, it’s about that, but dammit, if you don’t sit up and listen to me properly I will withdraw my suggestion, which I suspect you would have found interesting.” John sat back and folded his arms and waited for Sherlock to process his challenge.

Sherlock swung his legs off the couch, letting the momentum bring his body upright. Finally, he condescended to open his eyes and stare at John. “So. Talk.”

“Um. Thank you.” John fidgeted. It wasn’t easy to talk about personal Omega issues with an Alpha at the best of times, and Sherlock staring at him did not make this the best of times.

“It’s about my next heat. I wondered if, as part of your therapy and our new, uh, relationship, um, that you might want to help me with it.” John rushed to reassure Sherlock as he saw refusal gathering in his face. “I have lots of toys that you can use on me, and if nothing happens for you then that’s fine, but I thought maybe you could… play with me.” John allowed a hint of a smile to cross his features. “Or rather, that we could play together. I’ve been told plenty of times that I’m fun during my heat, and I know _I_ would enjoy it. But no pressure. If you think you would feel stressed by it all, well, never mind. Forget I brought it up.”

Sherlock chewed on his lip as he thought about it. “So you wouldn’t expect me to penetrate you or knot you or anything, just use the toys on you? And that wouldn’t be disappointing for you? I’ve already been near you during your heats plenty of times with no reaction, you know.”

John shrugged. “Sure, but you never know. Four days of constant exposure to Omega pheromones via skin as well as scent and after weeks of detoxing, who knows? At the very least you’ll get some practice with my toys and I’ll have lots of orgasms – how bad could it be?” John dared to wink at Sherlock.

Sherlock barked a short laugh. “Very well, if that’s what you think you want I’m prepared to give it a try.”

**# # # # #**

John could not recall ever anticipating a heat as much as this one. Of course, that meant that it was delayed. The letter ‘H’ on his calendar which marked Day 36 was three days past before John woke to feel sweat prickling through his scalp. Finally.

He sent a text message to the office confirming that he would be ‘indisposed’ for the next four days and switched off his phone. He stretched luxuriously in the bed before jumping up and throwing on his dressing gown. He padded down the stairs in his bare feet. He was in the mood for a substantial breakfast – one that would last him all day because once he got back into bed he wouldn’t be leaving it again in a hurry.

When John entered the kitchen Sherlock was sitting at the table with his face glued to the microscope. John slid up behind him and breathed in his ear, “So, are you ready?”

Sherlock jerked his head back from the microscope and cast an assessing glance over John. “The start of your heat is today?” His face fell with obvious disappointment. He had looked at John to determine if he was in heat, which meant that he still could not scent anything. John told himself it was ridiculous to be disappointed. Sherlock had encountered John in heat before and it had never stirred anything in him, it was incredibly unlikely that this would do the trick. Still…

“I’m going to make some tea and eggs on toast,” John exclaimed brightly. “I suggest you have some, got to keep up your strength you know.”

Sherlock reapplied his face to the microscope eyepieces and grunted non-committally. “I’ll come upstairs when you’ve finished eating. This reaction is almost finished and if I do it now I won’t have to repeat the experiment later.”

John bit his lip. Wasn’t Sherlock excited about sharing his heat? He wouldn’t be able to penetrate John, obviously, but using a vibrator on someone else should be an intensely personal, intimate encounter. John could feel his excitement going off the boil. If Sherlock wasn’t even interested this could get extremely awkward. Being in heat made John feel vulnerable in ways that had nothing to do with getting his clothes off. He was a doctor with no body shyness issues, but relaxing enough to have an orgasm with clinically disinterested eyes staring at him was a whole ‘nother kettle of eels.

John shovelled down his eggs and toast without really noticing. He was staring at the bottom of his empty mug when he realized that he had delayed as long as possible. His body’s demands were not going to be put off much longer. He had protein and caffeine coursing through his veins, now his cock was demanding his urgent attention, not to mention the lubrication he could feel starting to soak through his pyjamas. He didn’t have a wet patch on the back of his dressing gown yet, but in less than ten minutes he would. No point putting it off then.

He stood behind Sherlock for a moment before announcing, “Well, I’m off upstairs. Join me when you’re ready.” John scented the back of Sherlock’s neck for a moment, picking up only the faintest trace of some berry-ish scent. He could not tell if it was cherry or plum or perhaps even blackberry. It reminded him vaguely of jam but there wasn’t enough of it to trigger anything in him, even in heat. With a last sigh John turned around and headed for the stairs.

“Just… just give me a minute.” Sherlock said, without lifting his head from the microscope.

“Sure, take all the time you want. I’ll be in my room for the next four days,” said John, trying to keep the snappish annoyance out of his voice. It wasn’t like _he_ had a choice about participating in his heat, after all. It was ridiculous to feel resentful if Sherlock had decided to back out at the last minute.

John ascended the stairs without looking back, therefore without noticing that Sherlock was sitting at the microscope with his eyes screwed shut and sweat trickling down the side of his face.

**# # # # #**

John retreated to his room and threw his dressing gown over the back of his desk chair. He opened the bottom drawer of his bedside table and let his eyes drift listlessly over his collection. He had already got out the lube and his smallest dildo for Sherlock to use on him, but if he was going to do this by himself he might as well use one of the bigger vibrators. He knew exactly he was doing with it, after all. He was very bloody experienced with it, and it looked like it was going to be another heat with just him and his plastic best friend. As opposed to his _real_ best friend who was downstairs either chickening out or looking for courage at the bottom of a cigarette pack. That ruse with the microscope was just typical Sherlock avoiding-his-eyes as if that would help with avoiding the issue.

John sighed and threw himself down on his bed on his back. If it was just going to be him, he might as well get on with it. John closed his eyes and imagined it was Sherlock leaning over him, imagined Sherlock’s long tapered fingers stroking down over his chest, scratching lightly at his nipples and down over his belly. He took his cock in his right hand and gave it a few long slow strokes. Even fully erect an Omega cock was only just long enough to cross his palm but it felt good, making him tingle and shiver with pleasure. All he needed now was something inside him and the party would be under way.

John reached over to his bedside table and after hesitating a moment, decided to go with the fantasy of Sherlock being there with him. There would be plenty of time for the other toys anyway. He took up the small dildo and, closing his eyes to better imagine Sherlock doing this, positioned it at the entrance to his body.

“May I do the honours?” Sherlock’s deep voice interrupted his reverie.

John’s eyes flew open to see Sherlock standing in his bedroom doorway, wearing only tight black briefs. John’s eyes travelled down the gorgeous length of pale skin laid bare to his gaze, then back up to Sherlock’s face which was wearing a slightly anxious but resolute expression.

“Come here and do _me_ ,” said John huskily, holding out his empty hand to welcome Sherlock into his bed.

“I thought you might feel more comfortable if I undressed too,” said Sherlock as he lay down beside John on the bed, “and I thought more skin exposure would maximize my contact with your pheromones.”

John pulled Sherlock into a kiss with full body contact before mumbling, “Mmm, both good thoughts. Very considerate of you, love.”

“So, how does this,” Sherlock took the dildo out of John’s hand, “actually work?”

“Well, you stick the pointy end up my arse. That’s pretty much it. And I’d appreciate it if you could do it soon. I’m sorry love, but I’m too wound up to take it slowly. I need you _now_.”

“Of course, John. I’m here to help you with whatever you need.” Sherlock took the dildo in his right hand and slid down John’s body. John could feel his self-lubrication increase just with the thought of what was about to happen.

He closed his eyes to better concentrate on sensation. That was the slide of Sherlock’s skin against his thigh. That was a brush of Sherlock’s hair on his belly. Oh God, was Sherlock going to…? Oh yes, that was Sherlock’s mouth closing lightly around his erect cock, taking it all the way down to the root.

“Yes, more,” he gasped, and felt a stroke of tongue added. The advantage of a small Omega cock was that it fit so nicely into an Alpha’s mouth that even on the first try most of them could take it all in without gagging. And it was so lovely and warm and wet in there, but there was still one vital thing missing…

John thrust upwards with his hips, just a little to remind Sherlock that there was something else he was supposed to be doing. Sherlock chuckled deep in his chest, setting off some very pleasant vibrations through John’s body.

“I’ll get there, I haven’t forgotten,” he said.

“Don’t tease me, not the first time,” John groaned, “There will be plenty of time for that later. I need you to fill me _now_. Touch me deep inside, join with me…” John broke off as he felt Sherlock nudging the tip of the dildo at his entrance. The angle was not quite right, so John tilted his hips up and sighed with pleasure as Sherlock slid the dildo in to the hilt.

“ _Yes!”_ hissed John through clenched teeth, “That’s it, just like that. Oh God, do that again.”

Sherlock initially overly gentle movements in and out of John’s body became rapidly more confident and firmer, until Sherlock was very definitely fucking John in every way that mattered. As he leaned up for a kiss, never stopping the deliciously stimulating movements, John suddenly had a new appreciation for a lover with long arms. Sherlock kissed him with those incredibly plush lips and invaded his mouth with his tongue, and John’s climax crashed over him like a tidal wave and dragged him under.

When John woke, Sherlock was lying beside him looking anxious. “Thank goodness you’re awake,” he said. “Do you always pass out when you orgasm?”

“Mmm, no. Only with the good ones,” said John, stretching languidly. “But if that’s what you can do with that,” he nodded at the smallest of his dildos, “I can’t wait to see what you do to me with the vibrator that has a knot.” John smiled with lazy anticipation, but he was too satisfied at the moment to do more.

Sherlock didn’t smile back. “So was that… all right? I mean, for a substitute?”

John was still floating on his hormonal high. “That was lovely. Let’s do it again in about half an hour. Need to sleep now.”

“Sleep? But John, you just woke up!”

“Yep. Post-orgasmic reflex.” John yawned widely, and the tip of his tongue curled up slightly in his mouth. “Lets the whaddaya callems… sperm… swim up to the eggs. Maximizes fertility, you know…” John was drifting off to sleep.

“So was that really all right? On a scale of 1 to 10 how would you quantify it?”

But John was asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for waiting for this update! This chapter just kept getting longer and longer!


	23. Chapter 23

The next three days of John’s heat passed in a blur of frenzied fucking with dildos, vibrators and Sherlock’s fingers and tongue. Neither of them mentioned the feature which was conspicuous by its absence. A few times John had caught Sherlock surreptitiously licking up various bodily fluids, apparently hoping to increase his exposure to John’s pheromones by taking them orally. John didn’t have the heart to explain that stomach juices would probably destroy them. Oral ingestion of hormones had always been the least efficient method of administration, which was why John had always had a contraceptive implant rather than taking daily tablets.

John’s hope was more on transdermal absorption from skin-to-skin contact with John’s sweat, and on respiratory absorption directly into the bloodstream. He tried to explain this to Sherlock.

“Did you know the surface area of the human lung is the equivalent of half a tennis court, Sherlock?”

“No. How big is that? Never been to Wimbledon.”

“Never been to… Sherlock, you do not have to have been to Wimbledon to know how big a tennis court is!”

Sherlock shrugged uninterestedly.

“Well, it’s bloody big. We’re talking about one hundred square metres of membrane directly interfacing with your bloodstream – that’s a lot more exposure than swallowing twenty bloody mls of my come.”

Sherlock smirked guiltily, “But not as much fun.”

John laughed and kissed him, “You can have both, but seriously, Sherlock. That’s why I’m so chuffed that you agreed to give up cigarettes for this. I know it was hard but as a doctor I really think this is going to be the way forward for us. Inhalation is much more likely to be effective than ingestion. Avoids first pass liver metabolism and all that. Goes straight into the blood and directly to the places that count.”

Sherlock’s guilty smile faded into an expression of plain guilt. “Er, John? About giving up smoking, there’s something you should know…”

**# # # # #**

Day Five of Sherlock’s (second) withdrawal from cigarettes. According to John’s medical notes, Sherlock should be over the worst of the nicotine withdrawal, though John had never smoked himself so he had no personal experience of how it felt. _Bloody awful_ would seem to be a good guess though. Daily trips to the local sauna only calmed him down temporarily; within an hour of getting home John would be peeling him off the ceiling again, metaphorically speaking.

John marvelled that he was prepared to do it again, having already been through it once. Then again, the silly git would not have had to do it twice if he’d stayed off the cancer sticks the first time around! John alternated between being pleased at this show of dedication and being pissed off that now both of them were going to suffer through it all over again.

John was doing his best to read the paper and hoping against all experience that Sherlock would find something to occupy himself with for a few minutes, at least. It didn’t seem to be working.

“John, I need some. _Get_ me some.”

John flicked over a page of his newspaper, imperturbably, “No. Cold turkey, we agreed.”

“Oh, _God!_ ”

Sherlock started tearing the room apart, looking in all the usual places for his secret stashes of cigarettes which, of course, John had already removed. His gestures were frantic, jerky and with a slight hand tremor that John found more disturbing than all the rest combined. He tried for a calm and reassuring tone of voice.

“Look, Sherlock. You’re doing really well. Don’t give up now. The cravings will start to reduce any day now, and then you’ll feel better for it. Your body will function better for it.” He gave Sherlock a significant glance. “How about a nice cup of liquorice tea?”

Sherlock groaned and threw himself on the floor to scrabble about in search of more hiding places. His pathetic display of desperation was interrupted before John could cave in by the sound of the doorbell. _Client. Saved._

Rather unusually, Sherlock had rushed down to open the door himself. He conducted Henry Knight into the room and introduced him to John before they all seated themselves to hear the details of the case. The handshake was enough for John, and he sat at his desk as far from Henry as possible. The man was clearly an Alpha, but his scent was so strong that John found it positively repulsive. It was an overpowering scent of lemons, as strong and acidic as dishwashing detergent with an underlying unpleasant tang of something chemical. Was the man on medication of some sort? In any case his handshake was just a bit too tight and he held John’s hand just a bit too long for comfort. John was glad when he sat on the couch opposite Sherlock and allowed John to fade into the background. Clearly, his quest for a detective superseded his interest in any opportunistic Omega-hunting.

Sherlock and Henry were engaging in a bit of verbal sparring, the usual Alpha jostling for status but John tried to ignore it and keep Henry focused on the case. Sherlock was being even more abrasive than usual, probably on edge from the lack of cigarettes. John just hoped he wasn’t going to offend their client to the point that he left – Henry had already accused Sherlock of laughing at him once. However, he seemed desperate enough to be willing to overlook any eccentricities on Sherlock’s part.

John leaned forward to capture their attention, “Henry, whatever did happen to your father it was over twenty years ago. Why come to us _now_?”

Sherlock snapped before he could answer, “Because of what happened last night. You came up from Devon on the first available train this morning. You had a disappointing breakfast and a cup of black coffee. The girl in the seat across the aisle fancied you. Although you were initially keen, you’ve now changed your mind. You are, however, extremely anxious to have your first cigarette of the day. Sit down, Mr. Knight, and do _please_ smoke. I’d be delighted.”

Henry looked in stunned silence from Sherlock to John and back. “How did you…?”

John rolled his eyes internally but Sherlock was already busy showing off.

“The train napkin that you used to mop up the spilled coffee: the strength of the stain shows that you didn’t take milk. There are traces of ketchup on it and round your lips and on your sleeve. Cooked breakfast – or the nearest thing those trains can manage. Probably a sandwich.”

Henry stuttered in awe, “H-How did you know it was disappointing?”

Sherlock quirked an eyebrow ironically but did not allow himself to be derailed, “Is there any other type of breakfast on a train? The girl – female handwriting’s quite distinctive - wrote her phone number down on the napkin. Though I can’t tell from the writing alone if she was an Omega or a Beta (you like both but prefer Omegas) I can tell from the angle she wrote at that she was sat across from you on the other side of the aisle. Later – after she got off, I imagine – you used the napkin to mop up your spilled coffee, accidentally smudging the numbers. You’ve been over the last four digits yourself with another pen, so you wanted to keep the number. Just now, though, you used the napkin to blow your nose. Maybe you’re not that into her after all. Have you seen another Omega since then that you prefer? Seems unlikely given the speed of the morning’s events but not impossible.” He gave a quick glance across at where John was sitting, but continued deducing.

“Then there’s the nicotine stains on your fingers - your shaking fingers. I know the signs. No chance to smoke one on the train; no time to roll one before you got a cab here. It’s just after nine fifteen. You’re desperate. The first train from Exeter to London leaves at five forty-six a.m. You got the first one possible, so something important must have happened last night. Am I wrong?”

There was a stunned silence in the flat before Henry said, “Bloody hell, I heard you were quick.”

Sherlock retorted, “It’s my job, now shut up and smoke.”

John frowned, but decided to let it go. Passive smoke would not be as bad for Sherlock’s lungs as the real thing, and it was technically within the bounds of their agreement. He tried to ignore it as Sherlock leapt out of his seat and inhaled deeply, moving his head around with his eyes closed to capture as much of the smoke as possible.

The rest of the details of the case poured out of Henry: his father’s death, his own years of traumatized silence after his first revelations were ridiculed, his years of therapy, his pilgrimages back to the scene of his father’s death and the discovery of the paw prints which lead him to seek out Sherlock instead of his therapist.

Sherlock steepled his hands and looked at John, “Baskerville, sounds like a good place to start.”

Henry smiled with relief, “You’ll come down then?”

Sherlock waved his hands airily, “No I can’t leave London at the moment. Don’t worry, putting my best man onto it.” He patted John on the shoulder.

John narrowed his eyes. What was this? Some kind of ploy to send him away so that he could search the flat more thoroughly for cigarettes?

Henry was looking at John eagerly, clearly anxious to be alone with him. His nose and fingers were twitching as if he couldn’t wait to get closer to John and scent him properly. John saw with incredulity that his trousers were starting to become tight. Did the man have such an incredibly high libido or could he scent John from where he was sitting?

Suddenly uneasy and not wanting to be alone with Henry, John capitulated. “Okay, okay,” he said to Sherlock. He lifted up the skull and tossed the packet of cigarettes to him.

Sherlock smiled with triumph, then noticed Henry’s predatory smile at John, the saliva filling his mouth and the burgeoning erection in his pants. Sherlock tossed away the cigarettes with newfound resolution. “No, not having those. I’m coming to Dartmoor after all.” He frowned at Henry. “You go on ahead, Henry. We’ll follow after.”

Henry looked confused and unsure if he should be happy to have the head detective, or disappointed not to get John alone. “Er, sorry, so you _are_ coming?”

Sherlock grinned eagerly, “Twenty year old disappearance; a monstrous hound? I wouldn’t miss this for the world!”

**# # # # #**

When they arrived in Dartmoor, of course Sherlock left the domestic duties like finding shelter for the night to John, while he swanned off in search of clues. John struggled to get the bags and Sherlock’s suit bag into the _Cross Keys Inn_ all the while swearing under his breath. First the innkeepers assuming he and Sherlock were a bonded couple, then the run-in with the tourist guide and his stupid bet – in John’s opinion Dartmoor would be much improved by the significant absence of nightmare monsters. He was much more interested in having a quiet weekend in the country with some refreshing walks and bracing fresh air, and evenings in front of the fire with Sherlock.

He was also in a bad mood because his Omega-senses were feeling rather overwhelmed. It was unusual for him to feel stressed by scent-overload, especially just after his heat had finished, but the fact remained that everyone in Dartmoor seemed to have unusually strong pheromone signatures. Half the population seemed to be here on a honeymoon, and even the locals seemed to have bathed in some kind of scent enhancer. John wondered if he was the only one who disliked artificial pheromones. Maybe it was a new fashion which had taken off while he was in the army?

The strange part was that people seemed to have the high libido to go with it. The two innkeepers seemed to have trouble keeping their hands off each other even while at work, and the tourist guide had given some long and interested looks in Sherlock’s direction – until Sherlock’s skeptical attitude had offended him, of course. Sherlock seemed oblivious to the atmosphere of latent sensuality, as usual. If it really was something in the local water maybe John should prescribe ‘a course of the waters’ like in the eighteenth century.

John’s ears suddenly caught a familiar sound. Sherlock was shouting for him. John sighed and gave up putting away their clothes and instead hurried out to the car. Some aspects of Sherlock’s Alpha personality seemed to be working perfectly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks and credit once again to the amazing Ariane DeVere for her transcript of the episode “The Hounds of Baskerville” to which I referred constantly, even when I blatantly misquoted it.
> 
> Also, I’m unexpectedly going to have more surgery next week. This cancer lark isn’t as much fun as it sounds. So no new chapters for at least a week after this one. Thanks for your patience, and thanks everyone for hanging in there with this story which is already more than twice as long as I originally planned it would be. Your reviews and comments keep me going!


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for those of you with issues around non-consensual sex/rape scenes. Skip the italicized flashback. It's pretty typical Omegaverse stuff, hormones out of control, that kind of thing.

After a night driving across the moor in the dark, John was chilled and a little bit spooked and altogether glad to be back at the inn in front of the fire. The whole incident with Henry had unsettled him and John wanted a drink.

**# # # # #**

_John had taken Henry home after he had become almost hysterically frightened at Dewer’s Hollow. He kept repeating, “He saw it. I’m not mad. He saw it. Why would he deny it? But he did see it. He did.”_

_“Henry, sit down. Let me get you a drink, or maybe something stronger.”_

_Henry’s eyes were wild and he hovered in the doorway, shifting from one foot to the other. “Look, he must have seen it. I saw it – he must have. Why would he say that? It was there! It was!”_

_John tried to keep his body relaxed, his body language calm and in control. “Henry, I need you to sit down. Try and relax please.”_

_Henry finally flopped down on the sofa taking deep breaths. “I’m okay, I’m okay. I’m home now, I’m not dead like my father.” He laughed weakly, a sound that was more than half a sob._

_John brought over a glass of whiskey, “Listen, I’m going to give you something to help you sleep, all right?”_

_Henry knocked back the drink in one gulp. “This is good news, John. It’s… it’s good. I’m not crazy. There is a hound, there is. And Sherlock – he saw it too. No matter what he said, he saw it.” Henry looked up at John with a wide grin which had a frantic edge John did not like at all._

_“Henry, it’s been a long night. I suggest you get some sleep and we’ll talk to Sherlock about all this in the morning.”_

_Henry peeped up at John from under his lashes. “I know what would help me to sleep, and it isn’t whiskey…” Before John knew what was happening Henry lunged up from the sofa and pinned him against the wall. Had Henry always been this big and strong? Damn his Omega instincts, John’s knees just wanted to buckle and let Henry hold him, let Henry kiss him, let Henry take him to bed… Weren’t they just talking about what a good idea it would be to get some sleep? Henry was right, sleep was best after a couple of rounds with a giant Alpha cock, and he hadn’t been well-knotted since…_

_John shook his head groggily. What was he thinking? Henry’s scent was getting to him, it was like lemonade and John liked lemonade. He hadn’t had any lemonade for such a long time…_

_Henry broke his chain of thought by kissing him deeply, roughly, then dragging him away from the wall and throwing him face-down on the couch. Then Henry was plastered all over his back, hands furiously pulling up his shirt and running all over his skin. “Lovely Omega scent, mmm, cinnamon cream…”_

_The Alpha was biting all down his back, leaving marks that would bruise, but John could not bring himself to care. He was wet and just wanted his pants off and a cock inside him. He wanted Sherlock to take him right here on the couch. He wanted Sherlock inside him, he wanted to bite Sherlock all over and taste his elusive jammy smell. Except that Sherlock seemed to smell like lemons now, that was strange. John needed a deep wet kiss for a better taste._

_John rolled himself over to kiss Sherlock – and saw Henry instead. Henry was drooling, his hand on his erection as he stroked himself to full hardness. John scrambled backwards, yanking his clothes back together. “No! Henry wait, we can’t! This is crazy.”_

_Madness kindled deep in Henry’s eyes, “Stupid fucking little Omega! How dare you call me crazy? I’ll show you! Little cock-tease! Little slut! I bet you’re giving it up to everyone except me!” He threw himself down on top of John, tearing at John’s clothes and forcing himself between John’s thighs. “All you Omegas are the same – parading around smelling like sex then crying ‘rape’ when anyone tries to give you some good Alpha cock. I’ll take you away from that sneering detective. I’ll bite you, I’ll fill you with my pups and then let him try to get you back. I’ll kill him to keep you…” Henry’s words trailed off into incoherent growling as he continued to fumble with John’s trouser zip._

_John froze, recognizing the insanity which was pouring out of Henry’s mouth. Something was very wrong here, and John was at war with himself. His doctor instincts were telling him to cure Henry, to try to fix him and comfort him and make it all better. His Omega instincts were telling him to roll over and spread ‘em for the nice Alpha and let him do lovely wet and sexy things._

_John’s rational mind overrode both sets of instincts and with one punch he knocked Henry unconscious._

**# # # # #**

After dragging Henry to his sofa and making sure he was safe and asleep, then driving back to the _Cross Keys Inn_ across miles of dark moor, John was in no tolerant mood. He wanted to have a quiet drink in front of the fire and calm his unsettled nerves, then retire to bed. Preferably with Sherlock to be, if not sympathetic, at least a listening ear to John’s disturbing encounter.

John found Sherlock sitting in front of the fire in the common room, staring into the flames but not apparently in his mind palace. “Well, Henry’s in a pretty bad way. He’s manic, and a bit, um… aggressive. In an Alpha way. If you know what I mean.”

John did not want to get more specific right here in the common room where various other guests were eating their dinners, but Sherlock was a consulting detective. He’d know what John meant. They could discuss it in more detail in their room, and then Sherlock could be appropriately concerned and possessive and his protective instincts might even lead further because though John didn’t want Henry he did want something…

John tried to force his mind back to the job at hand, and remembered his other encounter from earlier that night. He tried to interest Sherlock, “Listen: on the moor I saw someone signalling. Er, Morse – I guess it’s Morse. U, M, Q, R, A. Does that mean… anything?”

John realized that Sherlock wasn’t listening. If it had been anyone but Sherlock, John would have sworn he was looking at someone having a panic attack. But consulting detectives on the trail of gigantic hounds didn’t have panic attacks when they found them, did they?

John decided to try for lightness, “Maybe we should just look for whoever’s got a big dog?”

Sherlock’s low voice cut across his joking. “Henry’s right. I saw it too.”

John blinked at him in disbelief, “Look, Sherlock, we have to be rational about this, okay? Let’s just stick to what we know. Stick to the facts.”

Sherlock took a drink from his glass with hands that trembled, “Look at me. I’m afraid, John. Afraid. I’ve always been able to keep myself distant,” he gazed abstractedly into the fireplace for a moment, “Divorce myself from… feelings. But look, you see...” Sherlock held up his hand and John was horrified to note that it was shaking hard enough to rattle the ice cubes. “My body’s betraying me. Interesting, yes? Emotions.” He slammed the glass down onto the table and snorted with disgust. “The grit on the lens, the fly in the ointment.”

John took a deep breath and wondered briefly if he were the only sane person in Dartmoor. First Henry running mad, now Sherlock losing his rationality – something he would have sworn yesterday would never happen. “Just take it easy. It was dark and scary and you’ve just got yourself a bit worked up.”

Sherlock practically shouted in his face, “There’s nothing wrong with me! Want me to prove it?” He looked around the room and started deducing the hell out of random people and their dinners in a highly accurate (John had no doubt) but increasingly loud and unhinged manner. Finally he turned back to John and spat out angrily, “Leave. Me. Alone.”

John was rather taken aback by the vicious tone, but tried not to take it personally. Clearly Sherlock was out of control and a bit upset. It was out of the question to punch him out like he had with Henry, his only option was to try to talk him down. “How about we go up to our room and I’ll tell you what happened with Henry earlier. It was a bit weird – maybe there’s something in the water around here that sends Alphas crazy, what do you think?”

Sherlock glared at him, not taking to the joke at all.

“Fine,” John was sick of pandering to Alpha short tempers. “And why would you listen to me anyway? I’m just your…” he wondered briefly what word should go next: flatmate? Colleague? Future bonded? He decided not to get ahead of himself and settled for “…friend.”

Sherlock clearly had no such qualms. “I don’t have friends,” he retorted.

John felt like Sherlock had slapped him. After all they had been through together, and now Sherlock wouldn’t even call him a friend? He mentally kicked himself for his thoughts of what it would be like to bond with Sherlock. He rose to leave, but couldn’t resist a bitter parting remark, “Naah. Wonder why?”

He stalked out of the dining room. He wasn’t feeling quite himself anyway. A walk on the moor would clear his head.

A walk on the moor would also disabuse him of any notion of being a detective. After walking up the hill again to where he had seen the flashing ‘Morse code’ lights, he realized it was just random headlights moving from the local pash parking spot. He decided to call it a night and turn in.

Tomorrow would be a better day. It would have to be – it could hardly be worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks and credit once again to the amazing Ariane DeVere for her transcript of the episode “The Hounds of Baskerville” to which I referred constantly, even when I blatantly misquoted it.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks and credit once again to the amazing Ariane DeVere for her transcript of the episode “The Hounds of Baskerville” to which I referred constantly, even when I blatantly misquoted it.

John had gone to sleep alone after his walk and had not heard Sherlock come in, if indeed Sherlock had slept at all. The room was empty when John woke and there was no evidence that anyone else had been there all night.

John wandered downstairs to a lonely breakfast, then headed outdoors to have a quiet think in the garden. He was suddenly very conscious of being alone in a way that had not bothered him since meeting Sherlock. John realized with a start that he had been assuming for a while now that whatever form their companionship took, that they would be ‘Holmes and Watson’ for life. Now, he was not so sure. Who could he go to for cameraderie, for a listening ear, for advice?

John found his feet taking him towards the local war memorial, which they had passed in the churchyard the day they arrived. Yes, military companions had always made him feel at home. His father, his grandfather, his Captain, his friends both the ones still living and the others watching him from beyond the grave. His brothers in arms; closer than his real sibling. They would calm his full mind and aching heart. He sat down on the steps and leaned his back against the cool stone.

“Cap, it’s John. I think I understand now. I thought I was happy with you, but this is where I am meant to be. He’s my Alpha, the one I was waiting for, looking for. He’s mad, he’s brilliant, he’s completely insufferable and I love him more than life itself. Except that I don’t know if I can make it work with him. It’s so one-sided. I love him so much, but I don’t feel worthy of him. He wants me, in a way, but he doesn’t even call me a friend? I don’t know if I can live like that. I don’t want to be a lead weight attached to the feet of an eagle, dragging him down and making him resent me. It has to be a true partnership as well as a true bond. Oh God,” John dragged his fingers through his hair as he thought, “if we can’t sort out the sex thing, we’ll never get a true bond either. I’m running out of ideas and out of hope, Cap. I need a sign, just something to encourage me that we’ll keep working at it, that we’ll get there. Shit. I don’t even know what to ask for, just show me something that I can hang my hope on.”

John leaned back against the monument, the cold stone a pleasing contrast to the sun on his face. He was startled from his reverie by the sound of the iron gates clashing together after someone had passed through. Sherlock. Unsure of what to do, what to say, John buried his face in his notebook and pretended to be reviewing his case notes.

Sherlock came to a halt in front of him. They stared at each other in silence for a moment, before Sherlock finally offered, “Did you get anywhere with that Morse code?”

John answered shortly, “No.” He stood up and brushed himself off, deciding to return to the hotel. He was tired of being the one who was always doing the patching up, being the understanding one, the forgiving one. This time Sherlock would have to tidy up his own mess, if he could. John was going to pack and head back to London. “Good luck with the rest of case.”

“John, wait!”

John paused.

“What I said before, I meant it.” Sherlock was panting, struggling with the admission. “I don’t have _friends_. I’ve just got _one_.” He dropped his eyes to the ground in front of John.

_Thank you, Cap. That’ll do._

“Right,” John said aloud, smiling slightly.

Sherlock’s eyes suddenly widened, “John? John! You are amazing! You are fantastic!”

John wrinkled his nose, “Yeah, all right! You don’t have to overdo it.”

“No, I mean it,” insisted Sherlock “You’ve never been the most luminous of people, but as a conductor of light you are unbeatable.”

“Hang on,” protested John, “You were saying  ‘sorry’ a minute ago. Don’t spoil it. Go on. What have I done that’s so bloody stimulating?”

Sherlock was smiling, talking, waving his hands around, clearly inspired by John’s words, John’s questions. Inspired by John. Listening with half an ear as they walked, John basked in the knowledge that they were a working partnership – a team.

They walked back to the bar at the Cross Keys Inn, and they were both surprised to see Detective Inspector Lestrade standing casually at the bar.

Sherlock instantly started to snarl, “What the hell are you doing here?”

John blinked in surprise. It was unlike Sherlock to be so aggressive, so possessive. He had stepped half in front of John, as if to shield him from a strange Alpha’s gaze. But Lestrade wasn’t a strange Alpha at all – he was a familiar face in a strange place and Sherlock’s antagonism was totally unwarranted.

“Nice to see you too,” said Lestrade, with an ironic tip of the head. “Hello John.”

John walked over to the bar where Lestrade had picked up his pint again, “Greg!” John let his warm welcome make up for the angry coldness of Sherlock’s greeting.

Lestrade turned away from Sherlock to focus on John, “I heard you were in the area. What are you up to?” He licked his lips after taking a sip of his beer. The gesture was quite natural, yet John could never recall seeing _that_ particular look in Lestrade’s eyes before. Actually, he’d never noticed the dark brown warmth in Lestrade’s eyes before either. The man was incredibly attractive, and his new holiday tan only made his teeth look whiter. John could imagine those teeth nipping at his skin… He blinked at the direction his own thoughts had taken.

Sherlock frowned and interrupted, clearly displeased by this new development. “I’m waiting for an explanation, Inspector. Why are you here?”

Lestrade shrugged and sidled a bit closer to John, “I’ve told you. I’m on holiday.”

Sherlock scowled and pushed up to Lestrade in a confrontational stance, using his height to his advantage. “You’re brown as a nut. You’re clearly just _back_ from your ‘holidays’. This is Mycroft, isn’t it?” Sherlock was almost hissing his anger and spite.

John’s Omega senses were on high alert. He needed to break this up before it turned into a true Alpha fight for dominance. The mention of Mycroft had Sherlock wound up. The only way to get Sherlock back on track would be to remind him of the case. He exclaimed brightly, “Actually, you could be just the man we want.” Lestrade looked surprised, but willing. Eager, even.

Sherlock frowned at John suspiciously, but John patted his arm soothingly. _No need to get jealous, this is just about the Work._

“I think I might have found something. Nice scary inspector from Scotland Yard who can put in a few calls might come in very handy.”

**# # # # #**

As they exited the pub after interviewing the innkeepers about the suspicious amount of meat a vegetarian restaurant was consuming, John couldn’t help noticing Greg walking very close beside him. Greg had never showed any interest in John before.

John decided a mention of Sherlock might work as a reminder that he already lived with an Alpha, so he said awkwardly, “You know he’s actually pleased you’re here?”

Greg just crooked an eyebrow sceptically.

“ _Secretly_ pleased,” John admitted.

Greg came up close beside John. Very close, and breathed in his ear, “Is he? That’s nice. But I don’t want to talk about him, I want to talk about you. We’ve never spent much time together and I rather regret that. I’m on holiday now, and Sherlock has his case so I expect you’re at a bit of a loose end. They have horse-racing here, you know. Wouldn’t interest Sherlock, not scientific enough, but I could take you for a flutter on the ponies? Then back to my room for a beer and a… chat.” Greg’s hand touched the back of John’s arm and slid down to cup his elbow for a moment before falling away. There was nothing overtly sexual in it, nothing indecent or suggestive, but John felt his skin tingle under the warm touch.

Sherlock emerged from the pub at that moment and John jerked away from Greg with a guilty start. Greg shrugged philosophically. “Right, that’s that, then.” He smiled and winked at John, “Catch you later. I’m enjoying this! It’s nice to get London out of your lungs!”

Sherlock looked disapprovingly after Greg as he walked away, then recalled himself to the Work. “I’ve got a theory but I need to get back into Baskerville to test it. Could be dangerous.”

John found himself grinning at Sherlock, “Let’s go then.”

**# # # # #**

Once at Baskerville they split up and Sherlock went with Major Barrymore to get access to the computer files while John went directly to the lab level. At least this time he had a proper pass card and didn’t have to worry about suddenly being locked out or discovered not to be Mycroft.

Then, of course, he was suddenly locked out. It must have been a major security malfunction because the lights were switching on and off so quickly John was half-blinded, and the alarms were shrieking in his ear. It reminded him strongly and unpleasantly of some of the more extreme evacuation drills in Afghanistan. He breathed deeply and slowly and reminded himself that he was trained to work calmly under these conditions. He reminded himself that he had delivered medical care in worse situations. He had saved Daniel’s life and leg in the middle of enemy territory in the dark and under fire - he could do this.

Finally, all the alarms must have been shut off centrally, and the emergency lighting came on. John gave thanks that at least the noise was over, even though it was very dark, especially after the contrast of the bright arc lights. He blinked and stood still as he tried to give his eyes some time to adjust.

There were some strange rattling sounds that made his heart rate jump, but he reminded himself that this was one of the animal labs. He blinked again, if only his eyes would clear! Squinting, he made his way back to the lab door, hoping that the siren shutdown might have rebooted the door. No luck, the door was still stubbornly locked.

Then he heard a deep, low growl somewhere behind him and his heart started pounding in earnest. He dug out his phone and tried to call Sherlock, his fingers trembling so that he almost used the wrong speed dial. He breathed softly through his open mouth now for silence, but the phone rang out. Either Sherlock wasn’t answering or there was no signal.

Then he heard the sound of claws on the tiles of the lab, and he remembered that one of the cages had bent bars. Something had escaped and was roaming around the lab with him. He told himself it was probably a monkey – he tried to remember if monkeys had claws or nails on their hind feet. Medical school had not really focused on animal anatomy, but he had a nasty feeling that monkeys had nails on their hands which could not possibly make that sound…

A low growl interrupted his thoughts, and he clapped his hand over his mouth to suppress the sound of his panicked panting. A dog. Definitely a dog, and a large one from the sound. John tried to force his mind away from images of a gigantic hound with glowing red eyes. John couldn’t help a small whimper escaping, and he heard an answering growl from somewhere else in the lab. Then his nerve broke and he ran for shelter. As he dashed past the empty cages he realized that bars can keep something _out_ as well as keeping things in.

He swung open the door of one cage and slipped inside, slamming and bolting the door and pulling the sheet back over the cage. He cowered at the back of the cage, his instincts all screaming at him to make himself as small as possible, to hide, to disappear, and over and above all to be _quiet_.

Then his phone rang. _God!_ What a time for Sherlock to return his call! He fumbled in his pocket as quickly as possible and eventually scooped out his phone and answered it, which at least stopped the infernal ringing.

He whispered as quietly as possible, “It’s here! It’s in here with me!” He could hear his own voice trembling, even in the whisper. “Get me out, Sherlock. You have got to get me out!” His volume involuntarily rose with his fear, and he clamped his hand over his mouth again.

On the other end Sherlock was infuriatingly calm, “All right, I’ll find you. Keep talking. What are you seeing?”

There was another snarl from somewhere out beyond the sheet, and John cowered in the back of his cage. He was trapped, his instincts were crying out for protection, for salvation. He needed to be rescued by his Alpha. He couldn’t help it, he whimpered down the phone “Now, Sherlock. _Please!”_

Sherlock’s cool voice insisted, “What can you see?”

John forced himself to look out into the darkness of the lab, past the corner of the sheet. He looked, and he was gripped with horror that turned his stomach. He thought he was going to vomit, or faint. He faltered into the phone, “I… I can see it! It’s here!” He was sweating and gasping and the growling was moving closer and there was nowhere for him to go…

Then the lights once again almost blinded him as the sheet was ripped off his shelter, and he was laid bare to the beast. He looked up, prepared to face death – and saw Sherlock bending over him, Sherlock putting a human hand on his shoulder and talking to him, though he couldn’t make out the words through the rushing in his ears and light-headed faintness.

“John? John!” Sherlock was looking worried now, “Are you all right?”

John dragged himself to his feet, shoving his phone into his pocket, and looked around wildly, “It was the hound, Sherlock! It was here. I swear it, Sherlock. Did ... did you see it? You must have!”

Sherlock’s calmness was exasperating as he waved a careless hand and said, “It’s OK now.”

John felt his self-control shredding away, leaving him naked and afraid. He almost shrieked in Sherlock’s face, “No, it is _not!_ It is _not OK!_ I saw it! I was wrong.”

Sherlock shrugged indifferently and John wanted to punch him. “Let’s not jump to conclusions.”

He put his hand on John’s shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze. John felt the hysteria ebbing away under the calming influence of his Alpha, his protector. “You’ve been drugged. We’ve all been drugged. Come on, it’s time to lay this ghost.” He tilted his head toward the door and started towards it. John got a grip on his courage and his trembling knees, and followed.

**# # # # #**

In an upstairs lab, Sherlock confronted Dr Stapleton about the disappearing rabbit. Then in a rather confusing sharp left turn, he asked to use her microscope. John took it philosophically. There were clearly going to be times when he could not keep up with Sherlock, and this appeared to be one of them. He was muttering and putting various slides under the microscope as John made rather inconsequential small talk with Dr Stapleton.

Then Sherlock burst out, “It’s not there!”

John ducked as the slide hit the wall near his head. “Jesus, Sherlock!” he exclaimed.

Sherlock was still fuming, “Nothing there! Doesn’t make any sense. There has to be a drug – a hallucinogenic or a deliriant of some kind. There’s no trace of anything in the sugar.”

John was still confused. “Sugar?”

Sherlock was up and pacing around the lab now. “The sugar, yes. It’s a simple process of elimination. I saw the hound – saw it as my imagination expected me to see it: a genetically engineered monster. But I knew I couldn’t believe the evidence of my own eyes, so there were seven possible reasons for it, the most possible being narcotics. Henry Knight – he saw it too but you didn’t, John. You didn’t see it. Now, we have eaten and drunk exactly the same things since we got to Grimpen apart from one thing: you don’t take sugar in your coffee. So I took it from Henry’s kitchen – his sugar. It’s perfectly all right.”

John was starting to get the picture, and it was a rather nasty one. “So you - who know what it is like to be drugged against your will – you deliberately drugged _me?”_ John was shocked, and angry. “You gave me a hallucinogen and locked me in the lab to see if I would hallucinate the Hound for you? I get that you’re a sociopath and you don’t care about people, but Sherlock, how _could_ you? How could you do that to me?”

Sherlock had his eyes closed,“Get out.”

“What?”

“I need to go to my Mind Palace.”

“Fine. You know what? That’s just fine.” John’s bitterness was spilling over and he didn’t even care that Dr Stapleton was watching them with interest. “I’m going back to London. No, I’m going to Greg’s room for tonight and I’m going back to London tomorrow. Then I’m moving out of Baker Street. Consider this two weeks’ notice.”

Sherlock did not stir from his stool or open his eyes.

John turned and stalked out of the lab without looking back.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks and credit once again to the amazing Ariane DeVere for her transcript of the episode “The Hounds of Baskerville” to which I referred constantly, even when I blatantly misquoted it.

John stalked out of the lab at Baskerville, still incandescently furious with Sherlock. To think that he had started out this morning wondering if he was worthy of Sherlock! A man who had himself suffered for years after being involuntarily drugged by his brother – to turn around and without a qualm drug his best, his only, friend. Friend, ha! John snorted a dark laugh. No wonder the man had no friends.

John took the Land Rover and drove back to the inn. Let the arrogant prick find his own way back. Served him right. Hopefully by the time he did, John would be long gone.

Back in his room, John threw his clothes carelessly into his bag and hefted it over his shoulder. It was too late to drive back to London tonight, he’d have to doss down somewhere. The innkeepers were most apologetic, but customers were not permitted to sleep in the dining room. They were very sorry, but it was a fire risk and their insurance would not cover them.

John perfectly understood. Perhaps instead, they could direct him to Greg Lestrade’s room? The innkeepers were openly hesitant, but after calling Greg he said “Sure, tell John to come on up!” so the boy was told off to take him upstairs.

Greg opened the door of his suite (a nicer one than their own, John noticed) apparently dressed only in his dressing gown. He pulled it tighter around himself, rather self-consciously John thought, as he gestured for John to come inside.

“So, er, what you brings you here at this time of night?” he asked, awkwardly. “Not that you aren’t welcome if you need a place to crash, of course, but I, er, thought that you and Sherlock…” he trailed off.

“Not anymore,” said John flatly. “The bastard drugged me and then induced hallucinations of the Hound. He doesn’t respect me and I’ve had it.” John dumped his bag next to the sofa in the sitting room. “Nice suite you’ve got here. Bit big for one person though. Is the wife joining you here?”

Greg shuffled his feet, looking away from John’s eyes. “No, not the wife. She’s got her PE teacher now.”

“Ah?” John raised one eyebrow with interest, “Got a new love interest then?”

“Sort of,” Greg was blushing now, “We’ve known each other for a long time.”

He pulled the dressing gown a bit closer around his body and glanced briefly at his laptop, open on the desk. John suddenly realized what his arrival had interrupted, “Oh shit, you were Skyping weren’t you? Sorry, so sorry. I’m just one sorry bastard today.” He sank down on the couch with his head in his hands.

“Nah, never mind. He’ll be down himself tomorrow anyway.”

“Oh really?” John raised both eyebrows, “Anyone I know?”

“I… um, I’m trying to keep it pretty quiet, if you know what I mean. He’s another Alpha, and the NSY is still a very conservative workplace. Of course there’s anti-discrimination laws and stuff in place about gay relationships, but still I don’t want it to get back to the office. Not yet anyway.”

“Oh, sure. I understand.”

“We’ll probably go public eventually. But he’s got even more to lose in his job than I do, and he’s younger than I am and more concerned about what people will think.”

John laughed a little, “Yeah, those young pretty boys can really turn our heads, can’t they?” he sighed.

Greg gave him a sideways look before sitting down on the other end of the couch. “You’re not so old. Still on the right side of forty, unlike yours truly.”

John’s smile was bitter, “But I’ve been through a rough thirty-eight years. Army Omega service, wounded, PTSD, now practically unemployable. Who would want me?”

Greg shot him another sideways look under his lashes, “Lots of people, I’m sure.”

John shook his head, despondently. “Even Sherlock was struggling with the idea of being with an ex-Army Omega and he’s about as detached from his ‘transport’ as it is possible to be. Oh,” John suddenly recollected that Greg might already know about Sherlock’s ‘condition’, “Do you know about what is… going on with Sherlock?”

Greg sighed, “You mean his chemical castration? Yes, I know. I’ve known for a while but Sherlock never seemed to want to talk about it. After all, what’s done is done. What is there to talk about?”

“Well it was a pretty bloody awful thing to do to him! Jesus! I can’t believe Mycroft would dare to do something like that – it’s a dreadfully invasive solution to drug an unwilling victim.”

Greg bristled, “You don’t know what Sherlock was like in those days. You think he’s impulsive and inconsiderate now? Back then he was on drugs and completely out of control. He used people without a second thought – he was a sociopath through and through. And don’t forget Mycroft was only in his twenties himself. He did what he thought needed to be done and has been paying the price ever since. You haven’t seen what has been going on with them over the years – Sherlock tortures Mycroft at every opportunity no matter how many times Mycroft tries to reach out to him. It’s horrible to watch.”

John stared at Greg, “I can’t believe you’re taking Mycroft’s side! You actually think it was a reasonable thing to do!”

Greg shrugged uncomfortably, “Not reasonable exactly,” he said slowly, “but not unreasonable either. Under the circumstances it was one possible solution to the problem. Maybe with fifteen years to think about it he’s come up with some other ideas, but at the time and with the resources then available to him he did what he thought was necessary.”

John sighed. “Anyway, it’s not my problem now. Sherlock can do or not do whatever he likes and it’s no longer any concern of mine.”

“You’re sure?” Greg asked, “No sudden remembering how brilliant the bastard can be and changing your mind?”

“No,” John sighed, “now that it’s all off with Sherlock I guess I’ll spend the rest of my days alone.”

“Not if I can help it,” said Greg in a low voice, and then to John’s great astonishment, he reached across the gap between them, grasped John’s chin firmly in his hand and kissed him thoroughly.

John almost choked with surprise, then slowly allowed himself to relax into the kiss. It was over with Sherlock, so why not? Greg’s hands were running over his shoulders and down his back, tugging suggestively at his shirt and he tasted so _good_. He was pure Alpha, smooth and sweet, a tantalizing blend of peach and mango on John’s tongue. John allowed himself to slide further down the couch and opened his mouth to Greg’s gentle assault, yanking his shirt out of his pants to give Greg access to more of his skin.

Greg was on top of him instantly, his own shirt ripped off and discarded somewhere, his clever fingers making quick work of John’s buttons. Greg was murmuring in his ear, “I’ve never wanted an Omega before, but John, you are irresistibly delicious. You smell so good, like custard and cinnamon. I can’t wait to take you…”

Then they were hot skin-on-skin and it was more heated and intense than John could ever remember feeling while wearing pants. Why _was_ he still wearing pants anyway?

John started tugging at his belt, his fingers moving swiftly under Greg’s riveted gaze. He was just about to push down his trousers when he felt his phone vibrating under his fingertips. Despite everything that had happened, his heart leapt at the thought that it could be Sherlock calling him. Pushing Greg away, he yanked out his phone and answered it.

“Hello?”

“John?” The breathless voice on the other end was female, distressed and definitely not Sherlock. John felt his stomach sink.

“Who’s this?” John felt sure he knew the voice, but was having trouble placing it right at the moment.

“It’s Louise Mortimer, Henry Knight’s psychiatrist. We met in the bar the other night. Henry, he’s gone mad! He was remembering; then... he tried... He’s got a gun. He went for the gun and tried to ...

“Oh God, what?” John asked. Greg was tracking the conversation and frowning. He reached for his clothes as John talked.

Louise was crying openly now on the other end of the line, “He’s gone. You’ve got to stop him. I don’t know what he might do.”

“What about you? God, he didn’t try to…”

“No, I’m okay, I’m okay. I’m at his house.” Her panicked panting and crying was starting to calm as she realized that she was out of danger.

John said, “Right. Stay there. I’ll send someone to get you, okay?” He ended the call and stared at Lestrade. “Henry attacked her, then took his gun and ran off.”

Lestrade threw up his hands in a gesture of helpless despair. “He could have gone anywhere! He’s a danger to himself and others – how on earth are we going to find him?”

“No,” answered John slowly, his own deductions clicking into place, “He wouldn’t have gone just _anywhere_. There’s only one place he’ll go to: back to where it all started. We need to get to Dewer’s Hollow, now. And bring a gun.”

**# # # # #**

Lestrade and John piled into the Land Rover and John floored it back to the moor. By tacit agreement they did not talk about what had nearly happened in Greg’s room. It hadn’t actually happened, so it could be quietly ignored as a piece of holiday insanity. Greg also pretended not to notice John throwing his bag into the boot of the car, or tucking his technically illegal gun into a pocket.

They leapt out of the car and skidded down the leaf-strewn slope, arriving at the Hollow just in time to see Sherlock taking the pistol out of Henry’s hands. Sherlock could not resist showing off, and he was just explaining to everyone how the murder had been covered up, when an unearthly howl cut short all conversation. Henry screamed and closed his eyes, the other three were momentarily frozen with horror.

Then everything happened at once. Sherlock drew Henry’s pistol, John and Lestrade took their guns and all three opened fire on the Hound. Afterwards, both John and Lestrade would claim to have made the kill shot – Sherlock was rubbish with a handgun, as it turned out. But Sherlock was the only one who turned from the Hound and spotted the man sneaking up behind them all. Fighting his way through the disorienting hallucination of Moriarty, he forced himself to focus – and suddenly it all became clear.

“The fog!” he shouted, “The drug: it’s in the fog! Aerosol dispersal – that’s what it said in those records. Project HOUND – it’s the fog!”

John and Lestrade immediately covered their mouths and noses with any available cloth. Henry was still staring in shock at the body of the dead dog they had shot – just a dog. A large black one, to be sure, but just an ordinary dog.

Henry looked up at the newcomer, “It’s just... you bastard. You _bastard!”_ He threw himself on the man who John recognized as Dr Frankland from Baskerville, and was doing his best to beat him to death when John and Lestrade pulled him off.

Sherlock was still talking, “He needed to do more than kill you. He had to discredit every word you ever said about your father, and he had the means right at his feet – a chemical minefield, pressure pads in the ground dosing you up every time that you came back here. Murder weapon and scene of the crime all at once! Oh, this case, Henry! It’s been brilliant!”

Ignoring Sherlock’s inappropriate laughter, John reasoned more slowly as the implications of Sherlock’s speech worked themselves out in his mind, “So we’ve all been dosed with the drug? Every tourist who has ever been here? The innkeepers every time they came to feed their dog? You, me and Lestrade?” John carefully did not look at Greg as he said it.

“Yes, yes, obviously we have,” Sherlock was brisk as usual.

John continued steadily down his chain of reasoning, his doctor’s brain fitting all the clues together at last. “So, I was thinking there was something in the water, but it wasn’t. It was in the _air_. Sherlock, this drug must also be an endocrine disrupter! Everyone has been going mad for sex around here, and… someone even thought I was going into heat from my scent. It’s the fog drug, I’m sure of it!”

John looked up into the eyes of three extremely interested Alphas. Henry, Lestrade and Sherlock were all gazing at him with identical hungry stares. Henry started stalking towards John, while Lestrade murmured to himself, “Heat spices…”

Sherlock was the quickest of the three. He flung himself at John and wrapped himself around the shorter man from behind. Then he took out Henry’s gun and pointed it at the other two, with a trembling hand. “Mine,” he snarled, the deep vibrations of his voice ricocheting through John’s sensitized body. “My John, my Omega, keep off.”

The tension of the stand-off was broken when Dr Frankland suddenly took advantage of their distraction to make a break for freedom. Henry practically howled his outrage as he gave chase. Lestrade gave one last look at John and Sherlock, before bolting after Henry – it was his job to prevent murders, after all.

Once they were safely gone, Sherlock leaned in close to John and scented his hair, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply, “Mmm, vanilla and heavy cream, and a dash of cinnamon spiced with…” he broke off, looking at John with wide eyes.

“Yes!” exclaimed John, “Yes, to all of it! Oh my God, Sherlock, the HOUND drug! It’s breaking down the other one!”

Sherlock rushed off towards the mouth of the cave where the fog was thickest and started dancing around, hyperventilating madly. Clearly he was trying to activate the pressure plates and inhale as much of the drug as possible, visions of Moriarty be damned.

“Sherlock, stop!” shouted John, “It isn’t safe! You don’t know what else it might do to you!”

Sherlock ignored him, breathing deeply through both mouth and nose, “Do you know how long I’ve waited to find this? Do you think a little thing like a few hallucinatory side-effects is going to stop me when I’m this close? This close, John!” Sherlock was looking positively rabid now, baring his teeth and the whites of his eyes clearly visible. “John, I’ll do anything! If this works…” Then he took one last deep breath before his eyes rolled back into his head and he fainted.

**# # # # #**

Lestrade returned just as John was discovering that he could not lift Sherlock on his own. In the dark Dr Frankland had escaped them, but as he had run into the Grimpen minefield he wasn’t so much a loose end as a smear across the landscape. Henry had taken his own car home. Lestrade reported that he had been agitated by the events of the night, but overall was rather relieved that he wasn’t mad after all. Finding out that he had been drugged was a relatively welcome outcome.

It took John and Lestrade together to wrestle the unconscious detective into the back of the Land Rover. He was over six feet tall and surprisingly heavy when bonelessly limp. They finally shoved him in sprawled across the back seat, half sitting because he was too long to lie down properly. He was snoring and drooling slightly. John thought he had never seen anything so beautiful. His brilliant Alpha who had worked it all out. His Alpha, his mysterious and rather mad Alpha who had unhesitatingly put everything on the line for him. His partner, in every sense of the word.

John climbed into the driver’s seat in a half-daze. Lestrade slipped quietly into the passenger seat next to him. “About what happened earlier…”

“You mean that nothing happened?” John said, without taking his eyes off the road.

“Yeah, exactly,” Greg shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I mean, you’re a nice guy and all that… but I’m not really into Omegas. That was some weird drug, and I’m with… Mycroft Holmes.”

John’s gaze flicked involuntarily from the road to Greg’s face before he forced his attention back to the road again.

Greg took a deep breath and sighed it out, “We’ve known each other for years, and there’s always been… something there, but I was married. When she left, well, we decided to give it a go. He sent me on ahead to keep an eye on Sherlock. He’s coming down himself tomorrow.”

“So that’s why earlier you were defending his decision to drug Sherlock,” John said.

“Well, yes and no.” Greg shook his head, “It’s complicated. Sherlock was a right menace when he was younger, I wasn’t kidding about that. But Mycroft… overreacted. He was only twenty-five himself at the time and what twenty-five year old makes perfect decisions all the time? Even geniuses. Genii? Whatever you call them,” he jerked his head to indicate the sleeping Sherlock in the back seat. “Mycroft is a controlling bastard, no mistake about that. But he genuinely cares for and worries about Sherlock. He’s never said it, but I think he regrets what he did. Sherlock has hated him like poison ever since, and it makes him sad. Sherlock won’t listen or believe any of it, of course. Maybe now, if you and I can help them, they can mend the old rift?”

John saw out of the corner of his eye that Greg was looking pleadingly at him. “It’s been years, and who can really understand the inside of a Holmes’ head except another Holmes? I think both of them have been lonelier than they will admit. You’ll be with Sherlock and I’m with Mycroft. We’ll be the voices of reason and calmness in the midst of their brilliant volatility. We can both be good for them. Think about it.”

They did not talk any more, but both John and Greg had plenty on their minds as they drove back to the Cross Keys Inn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a very quick update for me – I’m happy! My end of treatment scans were all clear and I’m officially in remission! Yay! Thanks everyone who left encouraging comments and reviews – you got me through a very difficult time. Let’s celebrate by making the next chapter pure smut from start to finish!


	27. Chapter 27

Greg made his way back to his own room with a sigh. It had been a long night, though to justify it he had some rather interesting pictures on his phone of the unconscious Sherlock for future blackmail purposes. He had helped John drag the detective to their room, then left John to do the detail work on getting Sherlock undressed and into bed. Greg’s groin was already aching with drug side effects and his conscience was equally uncomfortable. The last thing he needed to top off his night was to help undress the long lean form of Sherlock Holmes, which shared a surprising number of features with Mycroft Holmes on closer inspection. Not that John Watson was likely to let him get that close anyway, as he was in full protective-Omega mode, smoothing and patting and trying to make Sherlock as comfortable as possible. If Greg hadn’t been there he’d probably be cooing or purring whatever broody noise it was that infatuated Omegas made – Greg wouldn’t know and wasn’t interested in finding out.

He was still busy kicking himself over what had almost happened earlier in the evening. He was old enough to know better than to try to jump John Watson, of all people! Regardless of any drug he wasn’t even attracted to Omegas – their sweet scents were always too cloying for his taste. He preferred the fresh sharpness of a fruity Alpha scent. God, just thinking about Mycroft was making his trousers even tighter. He wouldn’t be here until tomorrow, and it was much too late to resume their interrupted Skype assignation, so it was back to his room for a quick toss off in the shower to relieve the pressure and then bed. Alone, sadly.

So Greg was rather shocked to open the door to his suite and see Mycroft himself sitting casually on the sofa, a glass of brandy in one hand and a self-satisfied smirk on his face at his success in surprising Greg. The smile quickly faded as Mycroft’s assessing glace took in Greg’s rumpled clothes, unsecured gun and guilty expression.

“Why don’t you take a seat and tell me about it?” Mycroft said quietly.

“Can’t you read it straight off me?” retorted Greg rather acrimoniously, as he went to the sideboard to get himself a drink.

“If you would prefer that, I could,” returned Mycroft smoothly, “but I’ve been told that people find it therapeutic to confess.”

“ _Confess?_ Shit Mycroft, you get straight to the point, don’t you?”

“I find it ever so much more efficient. But if you insist, I’ll start.” Mycroft slowly rose to his feet and came to stand directly in front of Greg, facing him and examining him closely.

“You had an… encounter with someone which was interrupted. You missed a button, by the way. That person was…” Mycroft sniffed delicately, “an Omega?” he raised one eyebrow in surprise. “Why Gregory, you are more broad-minded than I had realized. But the… event, as it were, was not completed due to other pressing circumstances which involved the discharge of your gun and an evening spent out on the moor. I would be interested to hear the details, once your need to unburden yourself is relieved. And speaking of relief, I note with interest but some confusion that you are still in a state of… excitement despite, or perhaps because of, your adventures tonight. I would like to think that you were anticipating my presence here, but as even Anthea did not know until an hour ago, I find that regrettably unlikely. Please advise me as to whether I should stay or are you expecting your Omega-friend to join you?”

Mycroft’s sardonic expression did not quite completely mask his anxiety. He was, as always, in complete control of his face but Greg was a detective too, and a good interrogator, and he noted the tension in the shoulders, the very slight shift of weight from one foot to the other.

“You’re right,” Greg sighed.

“Of course,” said Mycroft calmly, “I should be returning to London then, I left some rather necessary work on my desk when I decided to take my weekend early, but if I head back now I can get a jump on the Ambassador to… well, no need to go into details.” Mycroft’s urbane smile was rather tighter at the edges than usual.

“No, not about going back to London, Jesus, give me a minute will ya? Nothing happened with John _as you well know_. I just…” Greg sighed, “I just feel guilty because I’m old enough to know better and I should have controlled myself even when I was drugged.”

Mycroft raised one eyebrow skeptically, “Are you trying to tell me that John Watson drugged and tried to date rape you? I find that rather… improbable.”

“No! Fuck, I’m getting this all backwards. Let me start from the beginning. Actually let me start from the end. There’s a secret drug which is… damn, I forget the term. I think it was a hormone interrupter and John and Sherlock and I all got dosed with it. That’s why I was… all over John earlier. He wanted it too,” Greg added defensively, “I’m no sex offender. This drug appears to… I don’t know, make people horny.” He shrugged.

“Ah!” Mycroft’s eyes lit up with sudden understanding, “An endocrine disruptor! Well, well, this is fascinating. Did it have any effect on Sherlock? I’ve been watching his purge attempts with interest.”

“Disruptor, yeah, that was the word John used. I’m not sure. Sherlock seemed to go all crazy-possessive-Alpha for John and threatened to shoot anyone who came near, but about the other effects, I don’t know. He seemed pretty hard hit with the drug – he was unconscious when I got back after chasing Henry and Dr Frankland.”

“Henry Knight I know, Dr Frankland from Baskerville? What does he have to do with this? Maybe it would be easier to tell me from the beginning after all.” Mycroft patted the sofa next to him invitingly, and Greg sank down with relief. In a shorter time than he thought possible, he had summarized the events of the day and night, and Mycroft was possessed of all the vital information.

“Hm,” Mycroft digested the news, “since none of the rest of you were rendered unconscious by the drug I can think of only two possibilities; either Sherlock deliberately overdosed himself after John told him it was an endocrine disruptor, or else he tried to make a move on John and Captain Watson flattened him.”

Greg snorted inelegantly, “Not bloody likely. You should have heard John crying in his beer earlier tonight because he thought Sherlock didn’t have feelings for him.”

Mycroft waved away this irrelevance, “John has certainly the knowledge and ability, and no doubt the experience as well, of defending himself against overly enthusiastic Alphas. I would put the odds at about ten per cent that Sherlock might approach John in such as way as to compel John to knock him unconscious. Don’t tell me you’ve never been tempted yourself?”

Greg murmured something non-committal.

Mycroft continued, “As I was about to say, in either case it appears that my… misjudgement of many years ago is finally redeemed.” He sighed, “So if anyone else here is in need of forgiveness I am in an unusually merciful mood.”

Greg blushed, “I didn’t do anything with John. I wanted to, under the influence of the drug, but nothing happened. I’m sorry – I really only want to be with you.”

“Ah, you feel guilty and absolution is not enough. Very well, you may have a penance.” Mycroft pressed the tip of one elegant index finger to the centre of Greg’s forehead. “Kneel down.”

Greg found himself on the floor between Mycroft’s knees.

“Strip for me, fast or slow, you may choose.”

Greg was almost instantly naked and back kneeling in front of Mycroft, head down, hands behind his back in a classic prisoner control posture. Only his raging erection betrayed his feelings.

“There now, doesn’t that feel better already?” whispered Mycroft in a low, intimate voice, “Show me how much you missed me, how much you want to please me. Don’t talk, just use your body and mine to show me how you feel.”

Whimpering slightly, Greg nuzzled his face into Mycroft’s thigh, kissing softly with closed-mouth presses of his lips into the firm muscle beneath the fine wool. He enjoyed Mycroft’s crisp apple scent, which always reminded him of dry apple cider – no sticky sweet Omega scent here! He kissed his way up the warm leg, closer and closer to his goal. He used his fingers to quickly unbutton Mycroft’s waistcoat and trouser button – no belt of course, the buckle would ruin the lie of the waistcoat. He breathed out, warm and moist over the trouser zip before lowering it with his teeth, gratified to feel the leap of response underneath the silk briefs. He mouthed gently over the interested bulge in Mycroft’s pants, and by the time he was finished the silk was wetly plastered over the head of Mycroft’s cock and both of them were panting.

Greg whined an interrogative noise which Mycroft had no difficulty interpreting. “Bed now, yes.”

Mycroft stood up and shucked off his remaining clothes, letting them drape over the couch where he had been sitting. Greg sat back on his heels to watch, then pattered after Mycroft on hands and knees into the bedroom.

Mycroft seated himself on the end of the bed with his knees far enough apart to accommodate Greg between them. Greg came forward eagerly and settled into his happy valley. He showed his appreciation by applying his tongue immediately to Mycroft’s erection, giving it rough licks and teasing breaths across the saliva-slick crown. With his hands he massaged the strong thighs on either side of his head in time with the movements of his dexterous tongue. He allowed his right hand to creep closer to Mycroft’s groin, and when he moaned a soft, “Oh yes please,” Greg dipped his hand to caress and stroke Mycroft’s balls and press on the sensitive skin just behind the sac.

Mycroft gasped and dragged Greg’s face up to his own to kiss him soundly, “I believe we have an understanding,” he said. “I love you too, come to bed now.”

Greg leapt up and bore Mycroft backwards onto the bed, landing with the two of them pressed chest to chest and, more importantly groin to groin. Greg was already aching and desperate, and had been for over an hour, since the drug dosing he had received in the fog at the crime scene. Mycroft was not far behind in either hardness or desperation. Greg reached down between their bodies and grasped both of their cocks, using his hips to create delicious friction which had them both groaning in very short order.

Greg managed to gasp out, “Want this, with you. Only you.”

“Yes,” hissed Mycroft in return, “Take what you want. Do it.”

Greg’s escalating cries drove them both forward and upward, until Greg reached the peak with a loud half-scream and spurted hot gushes of semen over his hand and Mycroft’s cock.

The sudden pulses of heat turned Mycroft’s enjoyable climb into white-hot urgency and he suddenly sped up his thrusts into Greg’s hand until he too reached his climax and released his tension in a gush of warm seed which mingled with Greg’s into a gloriously sticky satisfaction for both.

Greg groaned and stretched, “Oh God, I needed that.”

Mycroft laughed softly, “Well, that was quite the most urgent lovemaking we’ve had in a while, my dear. How much of that drug did you say you inhaled?”

Greg lifted one shoulder carelessly, “I dunno, not as much as Sherlock and John though. I bet they’re having an interesting night.”

**# # # # #**

After Greg had gone back to his room, and the still-unconscious Sherlock was arranged on the bed to John’s satisfaction, despite the lateness of the hour John decided to have a shower. Sherlock was breathing easily and his heartbeat was steady. There was nothing to worry about, and he would come around when he was ready. John felt sticky and sweaty. It was probably just in his imagination that he could feel the drug sticking to his skin, but his imagination was overactive at the moment and he could swear it was crawling all over him. He needed a shower, definitely.

John peeled off all his clothes and let them drop to the bathroom floor while waiting for the shower to warm up. It hadn’t been all in his mind, he really was hot and sweaty. At midnight. After being thoroughly chilled on the moor. _Shit!_ The drug was sending his body crazy and he was going into heat! He jumped into the shower, gasping as the cool water hit his flushed and overheated skin. He grabbed the soap and scrubbed himself all over, trying to remove the heat-sweat. He was the doctor, the experienced one! It was up to him to take care of Sherlock, to watch over him while he was unconscious and monitor him for side-effects when he woke. Preferably _not_ to the sight of his best friend humping his leg.

John cursed his ridiculous flat-mate’s impulsive behaviour. If only he had waited, they could have gone back to Baskerville with Mycroft and got the formula of the drug. John could have checked it over, made it safe, given it to Sherlock in measured graduated doses. But no, the idiot genius had jumped in with both feet and overdosed himself in the most wildly uncontrolled circumstances and now it was up to John to look after him – except that John’s own body was betraying him!

Once again, not for the last time, John cursed the fate that had made him an Omega. How could he look after Sherlock when all he could think about was his body’s need to jump on top of him and ride his Alpha cock until they both exploded? How could anyone _think_ with all these hormones flooding through their body? At least if he could scrub off his heat scent he might be able to check Sherlock over without driving him mad. Maybe.

John scented the inside of his own wrist, giving his skin a cautious lick. Cinnamon and spice overlaid his scent so strongly he could hardly detect his usual vanilla base notes. Damn. Grimly he reached for the soap and lathered himself up again.

He was just shampooing his hair for the second time, when he felt a long cool hand run lightly down his spine, tracing his body from neck to tailbone, then caressing his buttocks and starting to travel down between his legs. A deep voice hummed with satisfaction on discovering John’s self-lubrication starting in response to the touch.

John opened his eyes to look, and promptly got shampoo in them. He squeezed them shut again against the sting, blindly reaching for a towel. His fingers encountered smooth, firm, definitely bare skin. And a nipple, rapidly hardening under his exploring fingers. His conscious mind told him that groping Sherlock’s chest was not appropriate. His Omega-mind told him it was a good start.

“Here, let me help you,” said Sherlock’s voice, unusually deep and setting off some very exciting vibrations in John’s body. Instead of the expected towel, John felt Sherlock’s tongue, warm and slightly rough, laving over his face, removing the suds and caressing his eyelids, his cheeks and finally taking his mouth. Sherlock’s Alpha instincts had clearly awoken. He was no longer tentative, exploratory. This was being taken, ravished, possessed by an Alpha who was promising with lips and tongue to take him in lots of other pleasurable ways – John opened his mouth eagerly  and allowed his body to melt into the hungry kisses. Oh yes, _this_ was what he wanted. His mouth was filled with delicious plum and berry flavours and something else that he could not quite place. It reminded him vaguely of a cherry liqueur chocolate he’d eaten once – he had bitten through the outer dark chocolate layer and the liquid inside had flooded his whole mouth with sweet (potently alcoholic) cherry flavours. Oh God, was he getting _drunk_ on Sherlock’s scent? It certainly felt like it. He was dizzy and Sherlock was going to his head and he didn’t think his knees could hold him much longer…

“Turn around John, I want to have you right here in the shower,” growled Sherlock without letting go of John’s mouth.

“I don’t know if that…” started John.

“Now!” commanded Sherlock.

John shrugged and turned around, bracing himself against the wall of the shower. He decided to quickly turn off the water – this was going to be awkward enough without the risk of slipping and cracking his head open. He could feel Sherlock eagerly pressing against his back, kissing his shoulder and running those large hands all over his chest and belly. He shivered. Any minute now Sherlock was about to discover…

“You’re too short for me to take you like this.”

“You’re too tall you mean. I’m the perfect height… Ow!” John yelped in surprise as Sherlock bent his knees slightly and rammed his cock into John. The angle wasn’t good, but John tilted his hips and arched his back and they managed to make it work. John was filled, but he was never going to be able to come in this position. Sherlock’s legs would hurt if they kept this up for long, though perhaps that was not going to be an issue. With three thrusts and grunts and a deep sigh, John could feel Sherlock jerking and spending inside him. Then with a groan, Sherlock stood up straight.

 _Was that it?_ John knew that first times were often not the big amazing fantastic fireworks that the porn vids made them out to be, but this was downright disappointing. At least Sherlock might offer him a hand job to finish him off. Pity he hadn’t brought any of his toys, but he hadn’t been expecting…

John turned around and saw something else he hadn’t been expecting. Sherlock’s cock had only flagged to half-mast with his release and was already filling out again.

“I’ve got a better idea,” Sherlock announced, “I think if you turn around again and lean back against the wall I can hold you sitting on my erection. Shall we try that?”

John was still staring at Sherlock’s hard-on, “I… um, it doesn’t usually work like that. Not so soon after… I mean…”

“Apparently it does,” said Sherlock with a proud wave in the general direction of his increasingly impressive erection. Sherlock’s smugness would have been infuriating, except that all John could think about was how he wanted to ride Sherlock in exactly the way just described.

Sherlock reached for John’s hips and cupped his arse, encouraging him closer. John wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s neck and his legs around Sherlock’s waist as he was hoisted into the air. He pressed himself against Sherlock’s chest and wriggled slightly lower as he allowed himself to slide down onto Sherlock’s cock. They both sighed as their connection was completed.

Then Sherlock snarled deep in his chest and body-slammed John against the wall of the shower. John gasped at the cold against his back, then groaned as Sherlock jolted inside him sending thrills of pleasure through his overheated body. But Sherlock wasn’t stopping, Sherlock was setting up a punishing rhythm with his hips, driving into John’s sweet spot over and over, fucking him with short, rapid strokes, every single one crashing into his body until John thought he would shatter from the onslaught.

“Too… too much,” he groaned.

“Not enough,” growled Sherlock, “More, more of you. All of you. _Mine._ ”

Sherlock let go of John’s arse with his right hand, holding all of John’s weight with only his left arm under John’s hips. _God, the lanky bastard is stronger than he looks._ Then John had no more coherent thoughts as Sherlock reached down between their shampoo-slick bodies and worked John’s prick in time with the relentless rogering he was giving him on the inside. John could feel the sweet tension winding tighter and tighter, deep in the core of him, exactly where Sherlock was touching him and _Christ_ , it was good.

“Oh yes, right there… ungh,” John panted. “Do it. Right now…”

Then Sherlock gave two more vigorous pumps of his hips and a deep cry in the back of his throat, and John felt liquid heat flooding through him, warming him from the inside. Sherlock’s hand was still stroking him and John felt the tightly coiled spring inside him suddenly release in a shower of sparks that set his whole body on fire and burned out to the very tips of his fingers and toes. He was flying, he was falling, he was floating away on white clouds of pure pleasure…

**# # # # #**

John came back to his senses on the floor of the shower, tangled in the long limbs of the still unconscious detective. He climbed awkwardly to his feet, managing not to bump any of his bruises on the taps. He was going to be bloody sore tomorrow. As was Sherlock, whenever he woke up. John decided he needed to finish his shower and at least rinse off the remaining suds in his hair, though he had to admit the extra lubrication had worked a treat when he was riding Sherlock – no chest hair burn.

John turned on the shower water, and it came on cold. Very cold. He shivered and Sherlock awoke abruptly. “Fuck John, that’s cold!”

“I think you already did, and yes, I know,” John snarked.

“Very funny,” Sherlock used the shower wall for support and gradually managed to lever himself upright.

“Thighs sore?” John asked solicitously. “I’m not as light as I used to be.”

“Mmm,” Sherlock didn’t dignify the question with an answer, “What time is it anyway?”

John stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel off the rail. He picked up his watch off the sink where he had left it eons ago, before he got into the shower the first time. “Just after 1am, why?”

Sherlock smirked, “It’s morning, then. I think I’ve got morning wood.”

John gaped at him with astonishment, his eyes travelling down to verify that, yes, Sherlock was half erect again already and rapidly hardening further.

“That’s not how that expression is normally used,” John finally managed.

Sherlock gave a crooked smile, “There’s nothing normal about this situation. Consider; I’ve been celibate for nearly fifteen years, desperate to fuck you for over twelve months and now dosed up on some secret soldier drug for the last five hours.” Sherlock shrugged, “You’re in heat and I’m good to go so I suggest we take advantage of the situation, as it is unlikely to recur.”

John dropped his towel and sauntered into the bedroom. He threw a saucy look over his shoulder as he left the bathroom, “Suits me. You coming?”

“Unquestionably.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Endocrine disruptors do actually exist. Diethylstilbestrol caused a lot of cancer before it was banned. BPA (bisphosphenol-A) is has already been banned in Europe. If you don’t live in Europe, beware of heating cheap disposable plastic and do not put it in the microwave or drink bottled water that has been sitting in a hot car. Endocrine disruptors are not really aphrodisiacs (that’s only in the Omegaverse) but they really can mess with your hormones and not in a good way. 
> 
> One final PSA for all the girls here: it really pays to check your breasts each month and know what they feel like. I'm still too young to qualify for mammograms, and I thought I was too young to get cancer (I'm in my 30s) but I was wrong. If you know your own body well, you will know if it changes, and the sooner you find a lump the sooner it can be treated. Here endeth the lesson!


	28. Chapter 28

John woke slowly, feeling rather sluggish. It was a familiar feeling, the exhaustion and stickiness that came with the end of every heat. Except that he wasn’t supposed to have _been_ in heat. He opened his eyes blearily and looked over at Sherlock. What he saw made him start upright and stare, suddenly awake. On Sherlock’s neck, right down low near the base, was that a _bond bite?_ Leaning in close, John inspected the bruising noting the small amount of dried blood surrounding the punctures. Oh God, what had he done?

John bolted into the bathroom and stared at his own naked torso. He was covered with bruises and scratches all over but he only had eyes for the bite on his neck. He had been marked by someone with straight, even teeth and a jaw longer but narrower than his own, and there was blood staining as well as bruising. A bond bite. Unmistakable.

**# # # # #**

_Sherlock had slammed him down onto the bed, snarling, “Fear and stimulus is one thing, but what about other kinds of stimulus?” Then Sherlock was growling and scenting and licking his way down John’s chest and back up again. “Vanilla, sweet and milky, like cream cheese and custard and ice-cream,” he was murmuring softly, “spiced with cinnamon and is it cardamon? No, cloves. I’m going to eat you up, John, I’m going to lick you and bite you.”_

_John had thrown his head back against the pillows and moaned wordlessly, his hands flailing uselessly at Sherlock’s chest and shoulders before diving down and going straight for huge Alpha erection that even using both hands he could not fully encompass._

_Suddenly John was shoved forcefully up the bed, impaled on Sherlock’s cock with his legs wrapped around Sherlock’s back and his ankles locked together. Sherlock was rutting into him, thrust frantically and then came with a deep shudder, filling John with his heat and seed._

_Then John was flipped over on the bed, on knees and elbows with his arse in the air as Sherlock took him urgently from behind. Was that when he got bitten? No, it was the time after that, when he had been on his back again with Sherlock panting and gasping above him. Sherlock had bitten him as he was filling him and the pain and excitement were all blurred together. He could remember clearly the sound Sherlock had made when John had bitten him back – he had screamed and come inside John, even as his mouth was still stained with John’s blood. His knot had finally inflated creating the sublime pressure inside John’s body and John had come so hard he had blacked out._

**# # # # #**

John was jolted from his reverie by Sherlock’s voice calling from the bedroom. He needed to know. If they had closed the circuit of blood and saliva between them they were bonded for life. John frantically ran his hands through his hair and scented his own sweat. Vanilla cream. No hint of Sherlock’s plummy scent blending with his and oddly, no hint of his own heat spices either.

John hurried back out to the bedroom where Sherlock was still lazing in the middle of the bed, taking up most of the space, as usual. His eyes widened when he saw the marks all over John.

“Oh, John, I’m sorry I was so rough. Are you sore?” his smile was more seductive than apologetic. “Come here and let me kiss it better.”

“Sherlock, do you know what this is?” John pointed to his own neck, knowing that Sherlock could not see the marks on his own body which indicated that John had been at least as rough in return.

“A bond bite, John, of course I know what one looks like.”

“Right. Did you do that deliberately? Do you know what it _means?_ ” John leaned over Sherlock, “Hold still, let me scent you.”

“Mmm, of course,” Sherlock lay back and closed his eyes.

John scented carefully all over Sherlock scalp and down his jaw. Even close to the bite mark, which was exactly the size and shape of John’s mouth, there was only Sherlock’s pure Alpha scent. He couldn’t help inhaling deeply of the rich plum and cherry scent.

“Delicious, isn’t it?” Sherlock rumbled deep in his chest, “Want a taste? I’ve got some juice here…”

John straightened up quickly, “Sherlock, this is serious. Do you realize that a bond bite is an irrevocable life bond? We didn’t even talk about it, it was your first time with anybody, _and I was too out of my head to make it good for you!_ ”

Sherlock smirked. It was not a smile, definitely a smirk. “I gave you four orgasms,” the smirk widened, “and had six myself. Not a bad score for a beginner, I’d say. Quite frankly I don’t see that you being in charge would have made it better. I like being on top, and according to your screams from last night, you liked it too.”

John took several deep breaths and tried to calm down. “Maybe it was a false heat, drug induced. Our scents haven’t mingled, so maybe it didn’t take.”

Sherlock looked up at John with a carefully blank expression, “Is that what you hope, John? That it didn’t take?” He looked away to the corner of the room, “Didn’t you want me to take you?”

“Of course I did! But having hormone-driven sex sparked by a drug overdose is a very different thing from making a life-long commitment!” John was pacing again, unable to constrain his emotions while sitting still. “You’ve only had sex once, only with me. How do you know you weren’t overcome by drug effects and I just happened to be the closest Omega?”

Sherlock snorted, “Have you forgotten all those weeks of drinking bloody liquorice tea and giving up cigarettes for you? Why would I have done all that? I’ll give you a clue – it wasn’t just for the ‘closest Omega’. This is something we’ve been working towards for months – why does it frighten you now that it is finally happening? Are you having second thoughts?”

John sank down into the chair in the corner, “What will happen when you get bored with me, or curious about what it would be like with other people? You’re younger and better-looking than I am, smarter, a genius with your whole life in front of you. What happens when you get tired of being with an old army Captain? You’ll come to hate the restraint I am on you…” John stopped abruptly and turned very pale. “Oh God, I should have been stronger, I should never have bonded you.”

It was Sherlock’s turn for pallor. “You should never have bonded me? That’s not what you said last night,” he scowled darkly, “Does this happen to you often? Do you fake-bond with _all_ your Alphas?” There was palpable scorn in his voice now.

“No! I never let anyone actually bite me before. Does it bother you about what happened in the army? Do you really want to know what I did there? Yes, I had sex with a whole unit of Alphas, every heat for four years all twelve of them took their turns with me whether I wanted it or not. I had sex, plenty of hot sex – and not once had the emotional connection we have had, even before we slept together. I always knew I was waiting for my…” he shrugged rather self-consciously, “my ‘mysterious Alpha’ who would be mine only and I would be his. Nothing like the group fucking of the army. An exclusive pair-bond. It was a silly, juvenile dream. It doesn’t really happen like that, I know better now.”

“I see,” Sherlock had an odd little smile on his face now, as he glanced over John taking in his compressed lips, his trembling hands, “Sentiment. You wish for someone to live with, to work with, someone you would kill for and who would be devoted only to you, be with only you forever after – and you think now that this ‘juvenile dream’ can never happen?”

John felt tears pricking behind his eyes, “If you and I did something stupid in the heat of the moment, then you get bored of me and leave me… no, it can never happen.”

“Ah!” Sherlock lit up with a sudden revelation, “You are insecure about my _lack_ of sexual experience! You are worried that I will get bored with you and go looking for excitement elsewhere!”

“Yes, thank you for pointing that out,” said John bitterly.

“Oh John,” Sherlock pulled his head down until they were touching foreheads. “You have killed for me and I would die to keep you safe. You are my blogger, my sniper, my flatmate, my everything – I’d be lost without you.” Sherlock bared his teeth suddenly, “And if this bond bite doesn’t take, next heat I will just bite you again because you are _mine_.”

“Yours,” breathed John, “and you are my mysterious Alpha,” he snorted a laugh, “Very mysterious and more than a bit mad, but you know I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

Sherlock sniffed and pretended to be offended, “I’m not mad. I’m a high functioning sociopath, John, and don’t you forget it.”

“Sure, whatever you want to call it. Let’s go home.”

**# # # # #**

John insisted on stopping for breakfast before they caught the train back to London. Breakfast was included, after all, no point wasting a perfectly good vegetarian full English. John was shovelling in eggs and toast, and poking his fork at what looked like a breakfast sausage but obviously wasn’t, when Sherlock wandered back from the bar with his morning coffee.

“So they didn’t have it put down, then – the dog,” he said.

John shrugged and spoke with his mouth full, “Obviously. Suppose they just couldn’t bring themselves to do it.”

Sherlock nodded wisely, “I see.”

John smiled up at him, “No you don’t.”

Sherlock looked down at him fondly, “No, I don’t. Sentiment?”

John nodded, “Sentiment. You’re going to have to get used to it, you know. Now that you’re in a ‘relationship’ you’re going to have to get used to fetching me cups of tea, bringing me flowers and chocolates when I’m in a bad mood and massaging my feet after I’ve had a hard day at the surgery. Not to mention painting the upstairs bedroom for a nursery and puppy-proofing the flat for our litter.” John placed his hand low on his abdomen and raised one eyebrow at Sherlock significantly.

Sherlock’s look of suppressed panic leaked from his eyes until it firmly occupied his whole face. He panted as if he had been running, but finally managed, “I thought you said you had a contraceptive implant?”

John rolled his eyes and burped with satisfaction, pushing away his plate and reaching for his coffee. “Of course I do. What kind of shit doctor do you think I am?”

On that topic, John made a mental note to check the expiry date on his contraceptive implant. It would be with his discharge papers and final operation reports somewhere. Damn, he had no idea where that envelope had gone. He'd better send off an email to Personnel and get them to check it. That would be quicker than searching the whole flat for it, and then he could double check that he was safe now that Sherlock was coming back 'online'. It was all very well to joke about it now, but it wouldn't be at all funny if he really ended up with an unplanned pregnancy.

Sherlock flopped down on the bench next to John, almost moaning his relief.

“I was just yanking your chain. Figured I owed you one for what you did to me in the lab.”

“Ah.” Sherlock buried his nose in his own coffee cup. “I _had_ to. It was an experiment. It was all totally scientific, laboratory conditions – well, literally.” Sherlock sniggered slightly.

John narrowed his eyes at Sherlock, “I was terrified, Sherlock. I was scared to death. I already have PTSD, and if I have nightmares I’m going to make sure I kick you in the nuts. Besides,” added John, sipping his scalding coffee tentatively, “You were wrong. It wasn’t in the sugar. You got it _wrong_.”

Sherlock scowled at the innocuous sugar packets sitting on the table, “A bit. It won’t happen again.”

“It had better not. You know what else? Next time I think you’re making a mistake or getting over-confident in your powers, I’m going to whisper in your ear ‘it’s in the sugar’ just to remind you that even geniuses aren’t infallible.”

Sherlock winced, “Thanks for that.”

**# # # # #**

Sherlock and John carried their bags down through the breakfast area where Lestrade was lazing with his coffee and a newspaper. Sherlock suddenly turned and looked sharply at John, nodding at what he saw. He dropped his bag and casually turned the collar of his coat down, checking the position of his shirt in the mirror over the bar. Then he lead the way over to where Lestrade was sitting.

“Gavin!” he exclaimed with false jollity.

“Greg,” Lestrade corrected without looking up, “Come to say your goodbyes? Unusually sociable for you.” When Sherlock said nothing, just fiddled with his shirt collar, Lestrade finally looked up. He blinked a double take, then looked across at John and blinked again. “Is that what I think it is?” he finally asked.

“Yep,” said Sherlock, popping the final consonant with satisfaction. “I just wanted to let you know that London will have to manage without me for six weeks. I’m taking John on a honeymoon to Italy.”

“But, but you aren’t…” Lestrade stuttered.

Sherlock waved a hand grandly, “Paperwork. By the time we get back we will be.”

John did a quick practised calculation in his head. Six weeks would take him past his next heat, even if it were late. John had to grudgingly admire his planning. The bastard thought of everything. Everyone said that France was so romantic, but John had always secretly wanted to go to Italy.

Lestrade was still processing the shock. “Well then, I suppose congratulations are in order. Can I get you a drink or something?”

“No time, no time,” said Sherlock whirling out the door, “Our train leaves in half an hour.”

 _Ah yes,_ thought John, _Sherlock’s Alpha personality is in full swing now. I’ll be chasing after him for the rest of my life._

Somehow the thought was satisfying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks and credit one last time to the amazing Ariane DeVere for her transcript of the episode “The Hounds of Baskerville” to which I referred constantly, even when I mauled it about for my own purposes.
> 
> Upcoming: fluffy relationship and honeymoon stuff and one more cameo for Lestrade, then that will be the end! (Unless I change my mind and decide to include a casefic bit after all.) Thanks for reading and especially for commenting.


	29. Chapter 29 - The Honeymoon Hexa-Murders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Honeymoon case-fic!

John tucked his hands into his armpits and stamped his feet in the snow to get warm. This was _not_ what he had been thinking of when Sherlock had said ‘honeymoon in Italy’. The train ride from Dartmoor to London and then to Paris had been head-spinningly fast – they didn’t even stop off at Baker Street on the way through. _(Why John? Our bags are packed already aren’t they?)_

Then they had caught the Euro rail train through France and Switzerland direct to Venice, which had been a gruelling eleven hours, although the countryside was beautiful. When they arrived in Venice, John only wanted to put his head down and rest for a few days, but Sherlock was still soaring on his case-solving high. And the other kind of high which comes from the discovery of sex, which was of course the other reason John was so tired.

After a few days of bickering and one all-out fight (brought on by over-tiredness on John's part) they finally agreed that John would sleep in the mornings while Sherlock explored, then in the afternoons Sherlock would show John the highlights of what he had discovered. They would have dinner and go to bed early, but not to sleep. Hence John’s need to sleep in again the next morning.

Sherlock was disappointed to find that as the HOUND drug wore off, he had to put up with a more normal refractory period, but he was managing well despite it all and still routinely giving and getting at least three orgasms most nights. This was a drop from his peak of eight, but he shrugged it off. John was mostly relieved and a tiny bit disappointed to note that the bite marks from his false heat faded completely and there was no scent blend left from it at all. He still thought they had rushed into it a bit, in the excitement of Sherlock’s return to sexuality. Sherlock never mentioned it one way or the other, though he obviously enjoyed scenting John thoroughly every morning. According to John’s calendar it would be another three weeks to his next heat, so they had plenty of time to enjoy Italy before choosing a spot to go to ground for a few days.

At first John was a bit worried about what Sherlock would get up to while completely unsupervised in a strange place, but he reassured himself that Sherlock had no contacts in the Italian police force and no contact with the Mafia, and John needed to sleep sometime since he wasn’t getting much sleep at night.

So John was completely taken by surprise one morning when Sherlock dragged him out of bed and told him to dress warmly.

“Sherlock! I thought we had an agreement! I need to sleep, and if there’s nothing more urgent than a 200 year old escape route from the local prison, it can wait until this afternoon!”

“John, it’s much better than that! It’s a hexa-murder! Quick, get dressed - you can sleep in the car. The Italian authorities are sending a driver for us in fifteen minutes!”

John groaned quietly. No time for tea, then. And what the hell was a ‘hexa-murder’ assuming Sherlock hadn’t just invented the term?

Sherlock filled in the background for John as they were driven high up into the mountains. “Apparently a group of hikers were attempting the Pordoi Pass on foot.”

“How high is that one? Two thousand metres, 'round about?” John was trying to recall his lessons about Alpine passes, but he’d concentrated on the ones in France, not Italy.

“Just over actually. 2,200 metres above sea level and incidentally, well above the snowline.”

“In February?” John was aghast, “Were they experienced hikers, at least?”

Sherlock made a face, “No. Quite the reverse. Apparently the three men were friends and quite good hikers, but this was a trip to introduce three other friends to the ‘joys’ of hiking through the Alps. So they decided to attempt the highest paved pass in the Dolomites.” Sherlock rolled his eyes at the stupidity of hikers in general and these six in particular. Rather redundant, in John’s opinion, since this little adventure had obviously ended in the death of all of them.

“Bloody hell. So I guess the lot of them got caught in an avalanche and froze to death – what’s so mysterious about that? Surely that rates about a two at best?” John was thinking of his warm bed and how soon he would be able to climb back into it. Sherlock would have cold feet, as usual, but there were ways around that…

“Ah John, let me point out one other interesting little fact. Six people died on that mountain – but two survived. The starting group of hikers was actually _eight_ people. The two who returned (incidentally the most experienced hiker and his bonded) were immediately held on suspicion of murdering the others. Which just goes to show that the Italian police are just as stupid as those of New Scotland Yard.” Sherlock made a face of exasperation. “Why would the two returning hikers immediately call for a search and rescue party if they had murdered their friends? Why would they give the details of their friends’ campsite and allow their crime to be uncovered? Why even admit to going hiking with them at all? No, John. The obvious solution is a great deal _too_ obvious, and is clearly impossible. I have interviewed the two returned hikers, and they are clearly distraught – one of them is a blogger and had heard of me.”

Sherlock shot a glance across the car at John, “I mean, he reads your blog and had heard of _us_. He contacted me through the blog and begged me to get involved, to clear himself and his bonded, and to find out what really happened to his friends. It has taken me the last three days and a call to Lestrade to convince the Italian authorities to give me access to the crime scene.”

John frowned, “So what makes anyone think this is anything more than six inexperienced hikers getting caught unprepared in bad weather? The fact that two of them split off and made it out doesn’t make them murderers.”

Sherlock rubbed his hands with glee. “I haven’t told you the best part. The six bodies were found naked, scattered around their campsite as if they were fleeing when they were killed. Both of the women were raped. Four of the hikers had crushed skulls and fractured ribs, but no defensive marks or signs of a struggle. Not only that, all six of the bodies were dyed orange and their tongues ripped out.”

“Ew.” John was suddenly glad he had only had a cappuccino in the car and nothing more substantial.

“I know, isn’t it wonderful?” Sherlock was grinning. “Who paints bodies orange after ripping their tongues out? Is it a fetish murder? It can’t really be called a serial killer since all six bodies were found at the same time, but if it is? Will the bodies be dyed a different colour next time, or is there something significant about the colour orange? I can hardly wait!” Sherlock was leaning forward in his seat, as if by doing so he could make their car go faster.

“Hang on, if the women were raped someone must have run DNA tests – did the DNA from the sperm samples match either of the surviving hikers?”

“No, nor did it match anyone in the Italian criminal database. They are currently running an international search, but I doubt it will turn anything up.”

“So it was the Yeti then,” joked John.

Sherlock looked confused. “It was human DNA, John. Even if another species were loose in the Italian Dolomites, it is highly unlikely to be interested in mating with… Oh, John!”

“It had better not be interested in mating with me!”

“No, no. Mating John! That’s it!”

“Well, yes, that’s a very interesting subject but how about we deal with the murdered hikers first?” John elbowed Sherlock in the ribs.

Sherlock gave an exasperated sigh. “Their gender and bond status may be relevant. I will text the Italian Crime Scene Examiner, she’s sure to have the information in her files.” Sherlock pulled out his phone and started sending messages while mumbling under his breath something that sounded like “better than Anderson, anyway…”

Which was how, two hours later, John was standing in the middle of a snow-bound campsite looking at six rather oddly brown-orange bodies lying mangled in the snow, while Sherlock crawled around examining and even scenting the dead bodies. John felt this was taking his newly discovered senses just a bit too far. Their Italian driver had elected to stay in the car, leaving the engine running to keep the heater going. The Italian police looked as if they wished they could do the same, instead of following around the obviously insane foreigners who liked to smell dead bodies. The higher-ups of the police force were comfortably awaiting the final report from their snug and warm offices.

“John! Come here and tell me what you observe about these bodies!” Sherlock was strangely excited. Well, it would have been strange on anyone else.

John reflected that this was his life now. His honeymoon was spending a week following Sherlock through snow and over mountain passes in search of either a Yeti or a murderer. Either way, it would be an interesting discovery.

Dear God, was he starting to think like Sherlock? Yes, it appeared he was. John jogged over to Sherlock to take part in his honeymoon hexa-murder investigation. Mmm, that would be a good title for the blog post…


	30. Chapter 30

John shuffled through the snow and looked at the nearest of the dead bodies. It was an Omega woman, naked, with a fractured skull as the obvious cause of death. Or actually, wait a moment… There was no blood loss or bruising into the scalp – these wounds had occurred after death! Long after, if John was any judge, which he was. He quickly checked over the other Omega woman and found the same. Her injuries (including the removal of her tongue) had all been inflicted after death. He next inspected the Omega male and found the same: tongue torn out and multiple injuries, but all inflicted long after death. Probably several days after death.

Something else suddenly occurred to John. “Sherlock, the medical report said that the two Omega women were raped, what about the Omega male? What did the CSE say about him?”

Sherlock waved an acknowledgement of the point, and started texting again. The answer came back quickly enough, but Sherlock pressed his lips together in disapproval at the reply. “They didn’t do a rape kit on the male.” He rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath. John caught the name “Anderson” and was glad he didn’t hear the rest.

John knelt down in the snow and tried to ignore the freezing slush rapidly soaking through his trousers. _This could have been me,_ occurred to him. Then he blinked. Why would he think that? He was an Omega male, but apart from that they had nothing else in common. He was always careful in his heats, always had someone to supply him with water and food, or else took care to stay somewhere safe… A chilling thought struck him.

He leaned down and scented the dead man, closing his eyes to concentrate on the traces which were very faint after so many days exposure. Strawberry ice cream – a bonded Omega then, with his natural creamy-sweet scent overlaid with the fruity blend of his Alpha, and was there a hint of cloves in the background? Yes, right at the back of John’s tongue the distinctive taste of heat spice. He was right then. There was something else too, something so elusive he couldn’t quite put his finger on it… Something missing, always harder to detect than something present. No, it was escaping him.

He went around to the other bodies and repeated the process. He found the strawberries-and-cream of the Omega’s Alpha partner. His tongue was missing of course, and he also had multiple fractured ribs. John checked the two Omega women next. One scented as chocolate fondue-with-apple, while the other reminded him of banana and cinnamon smoothie. Their bonded partners were matched up by their scents. The other male Alpha was baked apple and pear with chocolate sauce, while the female Alpha was banoffee pie.

John stood in the middle of the campsite with his eyes closed, reconstructing in his head what might have happened that fateful night. Eight friends, four couples, out hiking together when one of the Omegas unexpectedly goes into heat. The Omega can’t keep going, and the Alpha wouldn’t leave a bonded partner alone, so four of the friends decide to stay with them. They send the most experienced hiking couple down the mountain for help. However, in the close quarters of the tents, the other two Omegas go into sympathetic heat as well, and their bonded Alphas lose all sense of mountain safety in the subsequent rutting impulses. Rough sex between the remaining six would explain some of the more superficial lacerations, but then hypothermia overtakes them all and they run mad on the mountain until they die of exposure. Animals attack their bodies, causing the more serious injuries after death – yes, it all fit.

Sherlock put his hand on John’s shoulder, causing him to open his eyes and start out of his mental review. “How’s the Mind Palace coming along then?” Sherlock asked with a wry grin.

John sighed, “More of a Mind Tent at the moment, but I think I’ve worked out why they died. The only thing I can’t explain is the strange orange tan on the bodies.”

Sherlock quirked one eyebrow, “How long ago do you think they died? How long have the bodies been here?”

“Well, the police report says the hikers left on Friday night…”

“Don’t go by how long ago anyone _said_ they died. Words may be lies, evidence never is. Look at the bodies and deduce for yourself: how long ago did these people die?”

John looked down at the nearest body, which happened to be the female Alpha. There were minimal signs of decomposition, and there was no smell at all. “That’s what was missing!” John exclaimed out loud. “There is no smell of decomposition because of the snow! These bodies must have been here at least two weeks, looking at the progression of the rigor mortis, yet because of the snow there is minimal decomposition. _Oh!_ ”

Sherlock raised one eyebrow at John.

“I’ve just realized what the orange colour must be. After death skin cells can live for days longer and melatonin can be triggered in the skin even though the heart has stopped beating. These bodies have been lying here high in the mountains under the sun, on white snow, getting high doses of ultraviolet radiation leading to a really first class tan!”

Sherlock gave John one of his rare genuine smiles. He sidled up close to John and whispered in his ear, “You were right – deductions are a turn-on. My turn now,” he gave a suggestive smile that dared John to listen and not be able to admire.

“When the Omega female went into heat, she would have been craving protein. They were hikers, not campers, so they hadn’t brought much food with them. They ate their preserved beef jerky, which was the kind with sugar and chilli added – the packets were still in one of tents. They died soon enough after that the local animals (wolves probably) could smell the meat and tracing the scent to its source, tore out their tongues.”

“Brilliant!” John smiled worshipfully up at Sherlock, who blushed delicately and coughed slightly before continuing.

“And finally, the Italian authorities have been lying to us about how long these bodies have been out here. They did not want to admit that they have been fumbling about this case for over two weeks (you were completely right about that, John) so someone fudged the dates the hikers departed to make it look like these deaths were recent, trusting in the snow to preserve the bodies so that we wouldn’t be able to tell. Someone from a hot weather climate might have been fooled, but in England we know a lot about how cold weather preserves bodies! Come John, I think we are finished here.” Sherlock swept back to the car in a swirl of long coat and eddying snow.

John stared after him, then quickly looked around to see if anyone had noticed their intense interaction. The police were staring open-mouthed at Sherlock’s rapid-fire deduction style. John was somewhat inappropriately appreciative, but fortunately he was wearing a long coat too.

# # # # # # #

The drive back down the mountain and to their accommodation in Venice promised to be scenic, picturesque and completely excruciating. John was in a heady state of excitement and lust, both provoked by their mutual case-solving abilities. Sherlock being clever was always a turn-on, and working together and using his skills as a doctor to complement Sherlock’s observations made him feel valuable. A case-solving high had always energized Sherlock and now John could tell by the way he was shifting around in his seat that he had a hard-on under his coat. Good. At least this way John wouldn’t be the only one aching and suffering through the two hour - _God!_ \- car ride.

But it appeared that Sherlock did not plan for him to suffer all the way back. He unbuckled his seat belt and slid across to sit in the middle of the back seat, under the pretense of wanting to lean forward to speak to the driver. They exchanged a few sentences in Italian which John did not even attempt to follow. Then Sherlock sat back again, apparently carelessly forgetting to slide back to his own side of the car.

John kept his gaze fixed on the Italian mountain scenery sliding past his window, although his attention was almost completely fixed on the hand sliding under his coat and up his thigh. The long delicate fingers stroked their way up his leg, pressing tantalizingly a few times on the bulge in his trousers before migrating further up towards his waistband. The fingers deftly popped the button and lowered the zip before wriggling inside his underwear to curl around the length of his hardness. John managed to suppress the groan that he wanted to make by biting on the inside of his cheek, but he heard Sherlock give a small sigh of satisfaction beside him.

“Look John!” Sherlock suddenly exclaimed, leaning across John to point out the window. “Was that a bearded vulture or a griffon vulture?” Sherlock was half across John’s lap as he craned his neck to look up and out of the car.

“Umm, not sure?” ventured John.

“Well, did you see if the tail was wedge-shaped or lozenge shaped? I thought it was lozenge-shaped myself, but I didn’t get a good look at the wing shape.” Sherlock was clearly settling in for a speech, and incidentally his arm and shoulder were in a much more convenient position now, and his body was half shielding John from the driver’s view. “Did you know that the Bearded Vulture, also known in some circles as the Lammergeyer, is most closely related to the Egyptian vulture? They both have the distinctive lozenge tail shape which is unusual in birds of prey…”

John let Sherlock’s bird lecture drift past his ears as he focused on the strokes of Sherlock’s fingers over his shaft, and the delicate teasing of Sherlock’s thumb across the sensitive crown.

“…the orange or rust coloured head and leg feathers are thought to result from dust bathing rather than being natural…”

Now Sherlock was shifting his grip and using his smallest two fingers to reach around and tickle under John’s balls. He leaned back a bit to give Sherlock better access and closed his eyes. He had large hands and with just one wrapped around John’s cock was able to give him the encompassing touch sensation he loved.

 “…scavengers but they don’t actually eat much meat, you know. They mostly prefer the bone marrow. I thought of them immediately when I saw the fractured skulls and broken ribs of the hikers. The old name for this bird used to be “Ossifrage” or the bone breaker. They can fly carrying up to four kilos of meat and bone…”

Sherlock was pressing on the skin behind his balls, giving him rhythmic pressure that almost imitated the sensation of something pushing up inside him. John bit his lips for silence but couldn’t help making small thrusting motions with his hips as the heat gathered in his groin. Oh God, was Sherlock going to bring him off right here and make a mess? But, even worse, what if he _wasn’t?_

“John, are your allergies playing up again?”

“Mmm?” John forced his eyes open and tried to make his brain come back from the warm and tingling soup of endorphins in which it was currently bathing.

“I have a handkerchief here in case you… sneeze.” Sherlock reached into one of his coat’s inner pockets and withdrew a folded square of material.

Oh, dear Lord, the man was definitely a genius!

“Which brings us to a discussion of Alpine botany. Did you know there are over five thousand different types of fungi…”

John let his eyes drift closed as Sherlock’s hand on him started to move faster. He could feel the sweet tension building in the lower half of his body, even more exciting than usual for being forced into silence. He managed to suppress the groans and noises he desperately wanted to make, but he couldn’t help tossing his head a little as his hips moved into their final irresistible rhythm.

Sherlock suddenly leaned down and captured John’s mouth with his, muffling his groans, just as he added a little twist of his wrist to his smooth strokes on John’s cock. The additional pressure focused around the head of John’s prick made him gasp and pump his seed into Sherlock’s hand in quick, hot spurts of pleasure.

“St John’s Wort is an alpine plant which has been demonstrated to have medical uses…” Sherlock continued in the same lecturing monotone, even as he cleaned up the evidence of John’s bliss. “Although the most famous alpine plant is probably the edelweiss.”

“Just getting back to Alpine fauna for a moment,” John interrupted. “Do they have any, um, horned ibex out here?” John’s hand slipped inside Sherlock’s coat to discover that there definitely _was_ something horned in there.

Sherlock’s eye glinted as he answered, “Yes, I believe so. The _Capra Ibex_ or steinbock is native to this area. Please note, this is a different species and only marginally related to the one which is usually called the ‘Rocky mountain goat’. They can interbreed in captivity but different groups tend to not to mate across species boundaries in the wild.”

“Mmm,” murmured John, as he industriously worked his hands through all the layers of Sherlock’s clothing to finally achieve contact with bare skin. Sherlock sighed as John began to stroke him, and John tried quickly to think of something sensible to say to cover the sound. His knowledge of alpine flora and fauna was rather sketchy. “So are these alpine ibex related to the Spanish ibex at all?”

“Interestingly, yes. Both evolved from the Pleiocene species ‘capra camburgensis’. The alpine ibex was almost extinct last century and all the current individuals are actually related…”

John once again tuned out the lecture on bloody mountain goats and hoped that their driver had done the same long ago. John now had both hands on Sherlock’s long Alpha cock, and was pleased to note its little jerks and responses to his varying caresses and pulls, though Sherlock’s voice remained an unvarying monotone the entire time. His cheeks were flushed though, and his pulse was through the roof. Probably the excitement of someone actually being interested in his sermon on mountain goats. John stifled a giggle. Someone had to keep the conversation flowing, as he didn’t think Sherlock would be able to manage much more.

“What about bears? Are there any bears around here?”

“Oh yes,” replied Sherlock in an amazingly steady tone considering the amount of fluid John was now eagerly spreading over the head of his cock as he slid the foreskin up and down over the sensitive head. “Brown bears are found all over Europe and Asia, but usually lower down the mountain, in the forested areas. I knew even before we saw the bodies that it couldn’t have been bears – too high above the snowline. Besides, many people don’t realize that bears are primarily vegetarian. Their claws are best suited to digging…”

John could feel the tension building in Sherlock’s thighs and posture, as he continued to work Sherlock faster. John had no idea how Sherlock managed to keep his hips still and his voice even, though John noted that he had allowed his eyes to close. John wished he could lean down and wrap his lips around the tip but with all the clothes in the way and their position in the car he didn’t think he could manage it, not even by pretending to drop something. Still, it probably wouldn’t be necessary anyway, just a few more strokes and he thought Sherlock would get there.

“Excuse me a moment, please John, I think I’m going to…” Sherlock stopped talking and bit his lower lip abruptly.

“At-choo,” faked John obligingly, as Sherlock shuddered and spilled his semen into the waiting handkerchief in rapid pulses. “Thank goodness you brought that handkerchief,” remarked John. “I didn’t know you had allergies.”

Sherlock gave him a dirty look but said only, “Probably the alpine pollen is different from what we get in England.”

“Oh yes, sorry, you were trying to tell me earlier about edelweiss?”

“They are actually sunflower variant that usually grows above two thousand metres,” Sherlock cut himself off. “Never mind about the rest of it. I can see I’ve tired you out. Why don’t you nap until we get back to our hotel? I’m sorry I got you up so early this morning.”

“Wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” yawned John, as he let himself slide into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I realized I’ve never written sex in a car, so that’s another thing crossed off the bucket list! Thanks to Wikipedia for the all information about Alpine everything! I’m trying to enter an actual writing contest next week, so it might be a fortnight or so before the honeymoon resumes. I’m toying with the idea of another casefic, but that might be a bit much even for Sherlock and John on their honeymoon. I just don’t want this story to end, it’s been part of my life for about six months now.


	31. Chapter 31

By the time they had driven all the way down the mountain and back to their hotel, John had slept for an hour and was refreshed enough to want to go out and walk around town. After a shower of course, and not necessarily alone.

Now that the HOUND drug had worn off (and John wasn’t getting any younger) by mutual unspoken agreement they restricted themselves to exchanging soapy kisses while they washed each other’s hair before getting dressed again for a walk.

After a leisurely lunch John fancied a boat ride in one of the famous Venetian gondolas. Sherlock wrinkled his nose a bit at what the gondolier called  his ‘serenade’ but after a generous bribe he was convinced to shut up. Which Sherlock deduced was the point of the whole exercise.

They were lazing in the boat, kissing occasionally and watching the picturesque (but partially flooded) buildings slip past when John looked up from nuzzling Sherlock’s neck and asked, “Your scent, now that it’s back to full strength – what is it? I still can’t place it. I thought at first it was because it was so faint, but even now I can detect plum and cherry and… something else.”

Sherlock was looking at the buildings and idly deducing their history, so he replied absently, “It’s maraschino cherry – Mycroft identified it when I presented as a teenager. I didn’t even know what that was then.”

John frowned, “Those little red cherries that you get in cocktails sometimes, with a slice of pineapple and an umbrella? I wouldn’t have thought that was Mycroft’s style.”

“God, no!” Sherlock made a moue of distaste, “Those imitation cherries are an abomination to the name and shouldn’t even be called the same thing. They are made from ordinary cherries with enough food colouring and sugar syrup to drown any taste they might once have had. No, I mean the real thing. The actual _marasca_ cherries from Croatia, soaked in maraschino liqueur – Mycroft sampled some once when he first started working at the Palace. Apparently they were a gift after he had done something particularly clever. I’ve deleted the details.”

John groaned, “Oh great. My lover is so sophisticated and out of my class that I don’t even know what his scent is! I bet Mycroft is something equally exotic and unheard of.”

Sherlock smirked, “Actually no. He’s always been rather embarrassed about it, but his scent is very common. You’d recognize it if you ever got close enough, assuming he wasn’t wearing a ton of aftershave to disguise it. You even quite like it, on occasion.”

“What do you mean - beer?” John opened his eyes wide in surprise.

Sherlock grinned, “No, even worse. Apple cider.” Sherlock laughed in remembrance at his brother’s discomfiture, and his laugh was so delighted and carefree that John couldn’t help joining him.

Suddenly, Sherlock broke off and addressed the gondolier in a rapid flood of liquid Italian, much too fast for John to follow. John was beginning to realize that this was intentional. But he allowed Sherlock to keep his little secrets and returned his attention to their boat ride.

The gondola landed them in the middle of the tourist district, and Sherlock immediately started darting in and out of the various tourist shops, whirling around and leaving again when they apparently did not stock what he was looking for. John trailed after him, seeing endless variations on Venetian glassware, masks, handbags and reproductions of oil paintings.

Eventually, in a high-end tourist shop which John did not even enter for fear of a heart-attack on seeing the prices, Sherlock seemed to find what he was looking for. At least, he emerged with a smug smile on his face though, to John’s relief, without a package which could possibly contain anything resembling the glass-blown square-rigged ship in the window, which stood at least a metre high and nearly two metres long.

Sherlock tracked his gaze and scoffed lightly, “John, what I want with that? It wouldn’t even fit in our apartment. However, if I did, they ship them directly home for you and guarantee against breakages.”

John was strangely unreassured by this mention of the guarantee. He started wondering what Sherlock could possibly want in glass? A model of the Tower of London? A new microscope or magnifying glass? He didn’t think the tourist shops made that kind of specialized equipment. Something for Mrs Hudson? He gave up trying to guess, deciding that Sherlock would tell him in his own time.

They ended their afternoon with a rather early dinner, by Italian standards, which kept somewhat later hours than the English would usually consider quite proper. Sherlock was slightly agitated, which John attributed to a whole day of leisurely inaction. In the end John decided to forgo dessert, despite the enticing cake selection, and they strolled back to their hotel, at the last minute getting some gelato on the way.

“I don’t see why they can’t just call it ice-cream,” grumbled John as they licked their cones and ambled through the last streets of the tourist area. “I thought proper gelato didn’t have milk in it but this ‘cassata’ appears to be some kind of ice cream with fruit in it.”

“’Gelato’ just means frozen,” commented Sherlock, “Here in Italy proper gelato must have a minimum amount of milk solids to be entitled to use the name.” He stole a bite of John’s cone, “Mmm, sweet vanilla and fruit blended together. I guess this is what we will smell like after we are bonded.” He continued down the street as if he had said nothing out of the ordinary.

# # # # # # #

Back in their hotel room, John set about making himself a cup of tea while Sherlock jumped in the shower. _Another shower?_ John wondered. At least he wasn’t this hard on the water supply at home, but then he supposed they didn’t walk around in the dusty heat this much at home either.

After a relatively brief shower, the warm evening meant that Sherlock was comfortable in just a silk dressing gown. As he moved, the thin material outlined his body in quite explicit detail, proving definitively that he had nothing on underneath. John wondered vaguely why Sherlock wanted to light the fire at all, since it was warm enough in the room already, but his train of thought was very effectively derailed by staring at Sherlock’s behind as he knelt on the hearth fussing with the kindling and matches.

John took another gulp of his tea, but he didn’t think the heat in his belly had very much to do with the hot drink and a lot more to do with the hot Alpha in front of him, who was now apparently finding the kindling very much to his dissatisfaction.

Finally, the fire was lit and burning to Sherlock’s exacting standards. He sat back on his haunches, pulling the dressing gown tight across his buttocks in a way that made John’s hands itch to stroke the silk over warm, firm flesh. Of course, that would be the moment Sherlock chose to turn and catch him staring.

“Enjoying the view?” Sherlock rumbled in his lowest, sexiest voice.

John was suddenly certain that the fire had been fine all along, and Sherlock just stringing out the process of lighting it specifically to tease John. Fortunately, he was spared having to answer, as Sherlock sprang up and started rummaging in the pockets of his coat which was hanging on a hook by the door.

“I found something today, which I thought you might find interesting,” he said, pulling out a small glass jar. “It was lucky you mentioned you had never tasted maraschino cherries while we are still here in Venice. The Croatian coast is just opposite, and Venice being a port town I was sure I could find some.” He put the jar down on the coffee table and flew off to the bar, coming back with two teaspoons.

John picked up the jar and inspected it, but soon discovered he could not read the writing on it. The script was Roman but the language clearly not Italian. The jar itself was filled with dark purple juice and looked to contain about twelve large cherries. The price on the bottom was for a truly appalling number of Euros. Per cherry it worked out to about… no, that couldn’t possibly be right.

His mental arithmetic was interrupted by Sherlock taking back the jar to wrench it open. The vacuum seal gave a distinctive pop as it was broken, and Sherlock grinned. “Excellent! I was a bit worried they might have gone off, given how long they have been sitting there. But if the seal is intact some shelf time should just make them age better in the liqueur.” Sherlock popped a cherry into his mouth and murmured softly in appreciation. “Yes, a very good version. Try one!”

John was not always very adventurous when it came to food products, but he was admittedly curious. He spooned up one cherry and some juice and tipped the whole lot into his mouth before it could drip on the floor. The taste burst over him in a flood of delicious layers of dark cherry and sweet liqueur. It was like the soul of cherries preserved in port wine, and it was so potently alcoholic John felt almost drunk after eating just one.

“That’sh amashing,” he managed to mumble around the cherry stone. He quickly took the pip out of his mouth with the spoon and in the absence of anywhere else to put it, dropped it neatly into the lid of the jar where it sat on the coffee table. “I mean, that’s amazing! What is the liquid made of? It can’t be just cherry juice.”

“It is,” returned Sherlock, “The liqueur is made of fermented cherry juice from crushed _marasca_ cherries. They only grow in that part of Croatia, which is why the authentic product is so expensive and hard to find.”

“Very rare, very sweet but with a tang of tartness and wholly unreproducible,” said John quietly. “Yes, it suits you.”

Sherlock blushed slightly as he took one more cherry for himself, then put the jar into John’s hand. “You might as well eat the rest. The jar can’t be resealed and it will just leak and stain our clothes if we try to pack it.”

Sherlock watched in silence while John ate the remaining cherries. The room slowly darkened, until the only light came from the fire. When the fruit was gone, Sherlock found some small port glasses in a cupboard and poured the remaining liquid into them to make it more convenient to drink.

John took a sip, and taste of the liquor was exactly that of Sherlock – rich and fruity, complex, delicious and strong enough to make his head spin. John could only just make out the profile of Sherlock sitting across from him. His distinctive curly hair, the sharp points of his cheekbones and nose, the small chin and impossibly long neck, which probably gave him that incredible baritone voice. John sighed with happiness as Sherlock started speaking – that had been the only element missing to make the portrait perfect. It took him a moment to focus on the actual words.

“…and never missed it until you came along. John, do you realize how much of myself you have given back to me? I was half a man, living in eternal monochrome and not even missing the colours, until you came along and made me desire a full life again. Not only that, but you involve yourself in my life in a way that no-one else ever has even wanted to, let alone tried. You are the doctor to my detective, the soldier who watches my back, the social emollient to my awkwardness. You are my blogger, my interface with the rest of the world. You smooth over my sharp corners without dulling the edge of my insights and you share the Work with me in a way that I never knew I needed. I never wanted a partner before you, but now I can’t bear the thought of working or living alone again. You make friends so easily, but you are my _only_ friend and that means more to me than I can say. I don’t know if I can ever be worthy of you, but I’d like to try. Please say yes. Please say that you will let me bond you, mate you, even if you never formally wear my collar. I don’t ask you to make our bond public, that would be too much to expect, but in private please let me…”

“Sherlock, wait,” interrupted John, “What do you mean you don’t think you are worthy of me? That’s rubbish! I’m the one who would be lucky to have _you!_ You are brilliant, intelligent, musical, sparkling with wit and humour, and so handsome you take my breath away. I’m so… so ordinary.”

Sherlock shrugged, “I’ve never been one for false modesty, and I know I’m nice to look at – but you are the first one who has stuck around me for more than five minutes after I’ve opened my mouth. You’ve never told me to piss off, even at my worst. I’m good-looking but,” Sherlock’s mouth twisted with remembered pain, “you’re the only one who has ever wanted anything beyond the outside of the package.”

John laughed but there were tears in his eyes, “Ah love, we’re a perfect pair, you know. I was always worried people wanted me just for my Omega-ness and sex – you know you never even mentioned that in your list of why you want to be with me?”

“If you say yes, that is an oversight I will promptly correct,” said Sherlock with a sly glance.

“Yes, yes, God yes! And no silly ideas about keeping it secret either – I would be proud to wear your collar in any company. I just wish I could mark you in some way to show everyone you are mine, but I don’t suppose you would want to wear your shirts with a hole in them to display my bite marks.”

“I’m sure we can think of something, my love,” whispered Sherlock, as he covered John’s mouth with his own. Then Sherlock scooped John up in his arms and carried him to the bedroom, leaving two glasses still half-full of extraordinarily expensive liqueur sitting on the coffee table slowly evaporating in front of the fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry about the fade to black and lack of smut in this chapter, but somehow it just didn’t seem to fit with all the fluffy romantic stuff. Ah well, hang in there – they’ll get to it! ;)


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many apologies for the long gap between the last chapter and this one! I won't go into the reasons for it here - see the end note if you are interested. If you haven't read chapters 29-31 recently, you might like to refresh your memory, as this chapter is actually the last bit of the case-fic, before we launch into the honeymoon proper. Or not. The details of the case don't really matter if you are just here for the fluff!

After leaving Venice, Sherlock and John quickly established a new daily rhythm, what John thought of as their 'travelling routine'. Sherlock would usually go out early, then return in time for them to have a leisurely breakfast together. At least John would eat breakfast while Sherlock had a cappuccino, and they would check their emails or the blog, and read the newspapers together and laugh over the differences between the English papers that John was reading and the Italian papers that Sherlock browsed. Sherlock claimed he could tell by the phrasing which of the articles had originated in Italy and which had been printed first in English. As far as John could see, the plagiarism count was running pretty equally in both directions. There were more English articles for the Italian journalists to pick and choose bits from, but the few bilingual English writers were more shameless about lifting whole pieces and attaching their own names. Probably less fear of getting caught out, John supposed, as so few British people read fluently in both languages.

After breakfast they would check out of wherever they had stayed the night before, and travel to the next town in time to find a new place for lunch and a siesta. John quite enjoyed the Mediterranean lifestyle of a long lunch and a short nap. Sherlock would use the time to explore and plan their afternoon activities. Barring any further requests for help from the Italian police, their afternoons passed in a pleasant blur of sightseeing or simply walking and enjoying the scenery. John could never stop marvelling at the golden Italian sun and the saturated colours it produced.

"I can see why there are so many famous Italian painters," mused John, as they lingered by Lake Garda. "This scenery almost makes me wish I could sketch or draw."

"Mmm," returned Sherlock skeptically. "Does this mean you want to come on the 'art cases' with me after all?"

"God, no. Just to look at the art once you track it down."

Sherlock gave a surprised grunt. "Well, I can take you to an art gallery if you like. Give you a crash course in art appreciation."

It was John's turn to be surprised. "You know about art appreciation?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Naturally, John! How else would I be able to deduce if a painting was a fake? Most collectors are surprisingly opposed to chopping bits off their artwork for carbon dating."

"Really?" John raised his eyebrows mockingly. "You find that surprising?"

Sherlock shrugged, "In my opinion it would increase the value of an artwork to have it certifiably at least belonging to the correct century, perhaps even the correct decade. Well worth losing a few square centimetres of canvas."

"I can see those art appreciation classes were completely wasted on you, then."

Dropping the subject from his attention with an almost audible thump, Sherlock turned to their travel plans for the next few days. "After Milan, did you want to head back to the coast on the west, or travel inland through North Italy?"

"Uh, not sure," equivocated John. "I've never seen either. Why can't we do both?"

"I want to get to Florence soon," stated Sherlock. "So we can either go via Genoa and Pisa if you want to see the leaning tower, or inland through Parma and Bologna."

John giggled. "The inland version sounds like a food tour." He gestured expansively, "See the giant Chicken Parma our town was named for, and the World's Largest Spaghetti Bolognese!"

Sherlock sighed, "Typical English-speaker's attitude. Where do you think the names of those dishes come from, John? Although," he reflected, "In Japan you'd be right. The town of 'Toyota' really  _was_  named after the company, and not the other way around."

"You know, I heard that the Japanese named a town 'Usa' so that instead of 'Made in Japan' on their exports they could legitimately write 'Made in USA'."

Sherlock snorted derisively, "What rubbish some idiots talk, John! Of course not! The Japanese town of Usa long predates the World War II manufacturing boom in Japan."

John shrugged and returned to the point at hand. "So what's in Florence that you are in a rush to see?"

Sherlock declined to answer directly, whirling off on a tangent about Japanese naming traditions, food, culture and whale conservation. John got the distinct impression he was not being told everything, but he was content to let Sherlock take the lead, for now. Two weeks to go until his heat, then things would be… different. John frowned to himself. Did he  _want_  things to be different?

In the end, Sherlock had his way, as usual. They travelled slowly south-east from Milan through Parma, where John discovered that the origin of parmigiana was more complicated that he had realised. The dish was not named for the town at all, and was also claimed as a local dish in southern Italy. He had some very enjoyable Parmesan cheese though, which  _was_  named for the area, so that was all fine.

When they finally arrived in Florence, nothing changed. John had expected to be dragged off immediately to whatever destination Sherlock had been fidgeting to see, but their days continued with comfortable breakfasts and afternoons of walking. There were a few more museums and galleries on the list, as Sherlock informed John that Florence had the most art per head of population of any city in the world.

The third morning in Florence, John suddenly exclaimed over his newspaper. "Sherlock, the Italian hiker case has finally made the British papers! They are calling it the 'Case of the Radioactive Ramblers', but I still think my name is better. For the blog I'm planning to call it the 'Honeymoon Hexa-murders' though of course I haven't published my post yet…"

"John, stop muttering about the blog for a moment," Sherlock interrupted. "Why are they calling it that?"

"Sherlock, my blog generates more than half of our income! My 'ridiculous sensationalism' as you call it, is what brings in the private cases…"

"John. Focus please. If you aren't going to read the article, give it to me. Why would they call it the case of the 'Radioactive Ramblers'?" Sherlock's disgust was evident in his tone even as John skimmed the lines of newsprint.

"Er, hang on a sec. Wait, what? It says here that the bodies were orange because of the radioactivity? That's not right, it was solar radiation. Radioactivity doesn't turn things orange."

Sherlock snatched the paper out of John's hand, reading it for himself. "Our favourite detective… international consultant… of course they focus on the Omega-heat angle, it's always about sex with them isn't it… hikers… bodies found…  _Oh!_ _"_

Sherlock blinked and looked at John over the top of the paper, then started to laugh. "People are idiots, John! I've always said so, and this is proof! It is one thing to translate and plagiarise an article, but they've mistranslated this bit in the middle! This article was originally Italian, it's unmistakeable. No English journalist would write 'the clothes  _of_  the hikers' when they could conserve column space with the much more efficient and natural 'the hiker's clothes'. So this hack has been translating from the Italian article - I think I remember it from a few days ago, actually, and has come across the word  _radiazione_  and translated it 'radioactive' instead of 'radiation' which would have been  _radioattivo_! It's hilarious, John!"

John frowned, "Should we let the newspaper know?"

Sherlock shrugged. "It doesn't matter. So the wrong information goes into Wikipedia from the newspaper article? It wouldn't be the first time. The case is solved, so it doesn't matter what the British public or even the British police think of it. The Italians have the correct information in their case files and won't be reading the English papers, and even if they did they'd just shrug and laugh. No-one cares about the plagiarism angle, least of all the newspaper editors who have to get another filler story for Page Three by this time tomorrow."

"But it seems wrong to just leave it like that, without saying anything," protested John.

"I have something more interesting for us to do today. This is probably our last full day in Florence, so I thought we might go shopping for a souvenir of our honeymoon."

John blinked. Usually Sherlock couldn't be dragged near the supermarket, let alone inside. Now he was voluntarily suggesting going shopping? John nodded obligingly, and went back to their room to change.

In the shopping district Sherlock darted in and out of shops with more than his usual energy, which was saying something, John reflected. He seemed to be focusing on shops that sold clothing? Sherlock always dressed nicely, but John had never really noticed him going shopping for clothes. John paused in front of one of the racks of leather coats, running his hand over the soft material. Could he justify buying a leather jacket? Not a biker-style one of course, something with just the usual number of zips. He already had a black jacket, so maybe a dark brown? The Italian leather was certainly…

The realisation hit him like lightning at Ground Zero, as brilliant and certain as Sherlock's own sudden insights. They were shopping for a leather collar. For their bonding. For him.

Overcome with emotion, John stepped out of the darkness of the shop and back into the warm afternoon sun. That way he could pretend the water in his eyes was from the sudden brightness. Sherlock had planned their itinerary around coming to Florence in the week before John's heat. He who had always proclaimed that sentiment was useless was going the whole box and dice for John. First the proposal, now a collar. John hoped he wouldn't be expected to wear a frilly apron and maternity clothes next. John felt a chill all over. How did Sherlock feel about children anyway? They'd never discussed it in detail but they would have to, and soon.

John felt a moment of trepidation. Their working partnership was flexible, equal. Sherlock did the deducing and the running off, John did the medicine and the telling off. He would hate it if their easy camaraderie disintegrated into a 'normal' Alpha-Omega dynamic. He'd seem some (admittedly very happy) couples where the Alpha was not only the brains but also the brawn of the couple, and as far as John could see the Omega stayed home with the kids and put dinner on the table. If the thought bored him to death, it would be sure to send Sherlock screaming for the hills. And then there was that other little fact...

"John?" Sherlock's hand on his shoulder brought him out of his reverie.

John cleared his throat and tried to sound as though this was just another shopping trip. "I'm getting a bit tired. Sherlock, after you're done shopping I think we should go back to the hotel for a rest before dinner. I think I've had enough walking for today."

"Very well," answered Sherlock. "Just one more place, then. I know what I'm looking for now."

Sherlock's 'place' was not at all the sort of tourist trap John had been subconsciously expecting. No crowded racks full of leather coats in a variety of colours and sizes. Here, there was one or two samples on display but most of the rest of the shop was filled with raw material. This was clearly a bespoke leather establishment, where everything was made to measure.

There was a rack on a bench at the back of the shop of collars. John felt his mouth twist with distaste, and once again cursed his fate at being one of the few male Omegas. All the collars were small, dainty and incredibly ornate. They looked more like jewellery than material - clearly designed for women. Most had gold leaf in fleur-de-lys or lacy filigree patterns, some had rather tacky looking cubic zirconias attached or dangling as pendants. Some had spaces in the patterns for monograms or family crests or mottos or some other damn thing. There was even one with some kind of gold bead fringing all around it. He shuddered. Idly he picked up one of the tags and glanced at the prices. He gasped with shock. At those prices, maybe they were real diamonds?

Sherlock was ignoring the display, and instead was talking to one of the attendants at the back of the shop, in Italian of course. He tried not to feel paranoid that they were talking about him, until his ear caught the name 'Giovanni' followed closely by the word 'Omega'. Right, so they  _were_  talking about him.

The shop attendant brought out a limited selection of what were obviously meant to be men's collars. They were thicker, wider, studded with silver and not at all his style.

Another long discussion in Italian followed. Sherlock was clearly describing the kind of  _collare nuziale_  he wanted. The attendant went to the back of the shop and returned with several plain strips of leather. Apparently they had nothing to Sherlock's taste, and this was going to be a custom piece. The two men held the strips of leather up to John's face, choosing colours and then measuring around the base of his neck. The leather Sherlock had chosen was a rich chocolate brown, and so pliable that as it warmed and softened with the heat of John's body they had difficulty holding it steady against his neck to measure and mark the desired width. Finally (and noticeably without consulting John) they appeared to come to an agreement. The attendant disappeared into the back again.

"Are you going to let me decide anything here? I'm the one who is going to wear this collar, you know," said John, rather miffed.

Sherlock looked tired and tense around the eyes. "Yes, of course, John. I've asked him to bring the buckles out next, you can choose that. I don't think he speaks a lot of English though, this isn't a typical tourist shop."

The attendant brought out an array of buckles on a tray. Most were jewelled, engraved or otherwise decorated. "John, if I may?" asked Sherlock quietly.

Once again the shop attendant and Sherlock discussed in Italian what was wanted. Finally, another tray was produced, this one containing mostly plain buckles in gold and silver. Some had a braided pattern around the edges, but they were much less ornate than the previous selection. John pored over the choices, finally selecting a buckle in plain gold with no engraving at all.

"This?" asked the attendant. "No pattern? No jewels? I add small diamond, just a leetle one, or your Alpha not like to spend Euros on you?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, then said in a loud voice, "Choose whatever you like John, price is no object."

John chuckled, "You're lucky, I'm a cheap date. I can't really see myself strolling into Scotland Yard looking like a burglary asking to happen. God knows, with the life we lead, I should be looking for something washable!"

The attendant took the selected buckle with only a low dissatisfied murmur and went into the back of the shop. He returned with the strip of leather cut to size, which he wrapped around John's throat, then held the buckle in front of it. "You like?"

John picked up the hand mirror on the counter and looked. He couldn't keep the smile off his face. The leather was supple and already melting into his skin, and the colour was warm enough to match his skin but dark enough to make a statement against his blond hair. The buckle sat over the pulse point of his left carotid, although seeing his gaze, the attendant also turned it so that the buckle was right in the front, like a cameo on a ribbon.

"You can wear either way, you see? You want engraving? Filigree pattern in gold, very popular."

John flinched involuntarily. It would be a shame to cover any of the gorgeous leather with tacky gold leaf, and any work on it would probably make the leather stiff anyway.

Sherlock looked up from his phone and spoke one last time to the attendant, who removed the collar from John's neck and rolled it up. John was sure it was purely a psychosomatic effect, but his neck felt cold, and he was sure he missed it already.

John had been expecting the collar to be placed in a box or a bag or something, as he hadn't expected to be able to wear it out of the shop, but Sherlock was collecting his credit card from the man and clearly preparing to leave. "Don't worry, John, they'll deliver it to our hotel tomorrow. I'm just asking for a few finishing touches."

"You don't have a family crest or motto or anything that I'm supposed to wear, do you?" joked John.

"Of course not," Sherlock seemed genuinely surprised. "My mother was only the younger daughter of a baronet, and since her marriage gave up the right to use the family crest."

John felt his eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. "So Mycroft's airs and graces aren't all pure fabrication, then?"

Sherlock laughed, and took John's arm to lead him out of the shop, but just before they stepped out, the attendant called after them, "Gianni! Gianni!"

John winced. To his ear the Italian diminutive sounded too much like "Johnny" which he had always disliked. However, he pasted on an attentive expression and turned around.

"You no listen to me, bonding couples not ever listen to me, but I give you good advices." He nodded sagely. "Not to wear the collar during actual bonding, please. Is too hard to clean blood off the leather. Beautiful collar never the same after." He shook his head sadly. "I tell all customers, but no listen."

"Yes, thank you for 'good advices'. Send the collar to our hotel tomorrow morning please, as we are leaving Florence in the afternoon. Thank you," said Sherlock, turning away dismissively.

# # # # # # #

The next morning the box containing the collar arrived even before their breakfast, but Sherlock stashed it away in his bag before John could peek at it again, or see what final personal touch Sherlock had added. Or try it on again, even for a moment. He knew it was considered bad luck to wear the collar before the actual bonding, but he would have like to touch it, just to stroke the soft leather.

They left Florence and headed down the main highway to Rome, where John was whirled through a selection of tourist sites and art galleries, before they continued pressing on down to Naples. John felt he saw even less of that picturesque city, before he was whisked off again to a beach resort with a tongue-spraining name longer than John’s arm.

Finally, they were settled in a small private hut next to the beach. Sherlock informed John that it was also a private beach, there would be no random members of the public wandering around on it. Apparently there was a restaurant and other services attached to the small complex of huts, but the main watchword of the place was obviously ‘discretion’. There seemed to be very few other tourists in residence, either because of the time of year, or else, as John thought, because the name of the place was too impossible for non-Italians to pronounce.

The hut itself had as its main feature a large spa which would comfortably accommodate two people (even if one of them had very long legs) and an even larger bed. The small kitchenette had a kettle and tea supplies, as well as a coffee maker. The fridge was stocked with cooked food in small portions for either one or two people, and there was an abundant supply of both spring water and sparkling mineral water, along with a few cordials or syrups which could be added if a guest became tired of the taste of plain water. Prominently displayed on the kitchen counter was a bottle of French Champagne, with a little red ribbon tied around its neck to look like a collar.

Ah. So Sherlock had booked them into the honeymoon suite. Intrigued, John opened the drawer of one of the beside tables. It contained the largest selection of sex toys and lubricants John had ever seen outside of a sex shop, everything wrapped in plastic and with sterilisation labels on it. Definitely the honeymoon suite.

“So, does it meet with your approval?” Sherlock came back into the main room from exploring the bathroom. “You can even pipe music into the bathroom, you know. I don’t know why people would _want_ to pipe music into the bathroom, but you can. Is it… good enough? I know it isn’t a heat tent like you probably had in the army, but I hope it is nice enough and has everything…”

“Sherlock, it’s amazing! It’s nothing like the heat tent I had in the army,” John began, but then seeing Sherlock frown he interrupted himself, “and that is a fantastically _good_ thing! Sherlock, what have you been reading? Or, wait, you haven’t been gathering information from internet porn again have you? We’ve talked about that! If you have questions, ask me!”

“Er, well, just a bit. I wanted to be the Alpha you have dreamed of, John. I went to an Omega site and logged on under a false name…”

“Of course you did,” muttered John.

“…and there was an ex-military Omega on there, so I told her I was a new Omega to the army, and the only one on my base and that I needed to set up my own heat tent. Then I just asked her what kind of things made a good heat tent and she told me. So I arranged to have it all set up here, so that you could have everything you need on hand.”

“Sherlock, that’s so sweet! I’m touched that for my sake you would impersonate an Omega in order to squeeze inappropriate personal information out of someone.”

“Um, really?”

“Yeah, really,” sighed John. “It’s very _you_. Come here, you git.” John kissed Sherlock soundly, “I love you, you know. This is ideal. You’ve obviously put a lot of thought and effort into it, and I appreciate it. You’re a few days early though, you know? We didn’t have to rush through Naples quite so fast.”

“I’ve read that in the constant presence of an Alpha, heats can come on early, and I didn’t want us to be stuck in a tiny hotel room in the middle of Rome. It’s for  _you,_ John, and I wanted everything to be perfect.”

“It’s all wonderful. You’re a genius, I love you.”

Sherlock finally seemed to relax. Had he really been so worried that his preparations would not live up to John’s expectations? John chuckled to himself at the idea that Sherlock had been competing with a literal canvas tent in Afghanistan with French Champagne on an Italian beach, complete with a sodding honeymoon hamper and fully stocked fridge! 

John held out his hand to Sherlock. “Come on, love. Let’s go for a walk on the beach. Might as well enjoy it before we get stuck inside for the next few days, eh?” 

Sherlock took John’s hand as they sauntered out the French windows and directly onto the beach, but soon he was galloping up and down the shoreline looking at high tide marks and the patterns of limpets on the rocks or geological formations, or some other bloody thing. John let the deductions roll over him in waves, content to bask in Sherlock’s happiness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I have recently been made aware that it is six months since this fic has updated! I'm on a roll now and the last two chapters should go up in the next two to three weeks.
> 
> I never intended the gap to be so long, but the final illness and death of my father rather derailed my writing. You see, he was my consultant for the military parts of this story, and I had hoped to show him my novel-length story (suitably expurgated) when it was finished. I told him about what I was writing (and that I had three chapters to go) on the last morning of his life, but after he died, well, it has taken me some time to get the motivation back to finish it.
> 
> So, this chapter is dedicated to Lt. D. J. T., along with the fact that I now know to call them 'firearms' and not just 'guns'. Thanks Dad, you taught me all I know about military terms, unit organisation and military training. I know that no-one here will blame you for the use to which I put your knowledge!


	33. Chapter 33

As the sun set, the beach grew cold with a wind that swept straight through John's jacket. Sherlock did not seem to notice, but then, the cold never bothered him anyway.

"Oi! Let's go back and light the fire!" John shouted at Sherlock, the next time he came back within shouting distance.

Sherlock nodded and descended from his most recent perch in the rock formations above the beach, soon catching up to John for a quick kiss. He wound his fingers through John's, then tucked both their hands into a pocket of his coat. "Why didn't you tell me earlier you were getting so cold? These rock formations have been here for thousands of years, they'll wait for another day." He shot a quick but searching look across at John, "Or for another week, if necessary."

John chuckled a little. "Oh no, nothing like that. I just thought we could go back and have some dinner and light a fire…" he trailed off. How to open this last, most difficult conversation that they needed to have before his heat hit and he was too incapacitated to talk sensibly? He should not have left it so long, he knew it, but he had wanted to enjoy the fantasy.

Sherlock's bright and slightly suggestive smile only made him feel worse. How could he have let it go so far? He chewed on his lower lip and fretted about the whole situation. He should never have let Sherlock buy that collar.

# # # # # # #

Back in their little refuge, John set about heating up some food, while Sherlock laid the fire. Their usual companionable quietness together was slipping into something deeper, a shadowy silence heavy with unspoken words. They ate on the couch in front of the fire, staring at the flames and not at each other. Neither of them got up to turn on any lights, even though the sun had now set and it was completely black outside.

Finally, John set aside his plate and Sherlock's and spoke softly into the dark room. "Thank you for arranging all of this. It was very thoughtful, and it is all completely, utterly perfect."

"But?" came the deep rumble from beside him.

"I need to tell you something. You need to know something about me, something important, before we take this final step. It… it wouldn't be right to let you bond me… for you to become chemically and biologically bound to me, without knowing." John took a deep breath. "It's about my time as a Unit Omega in the army." Without looking at him, John could feel Sherlock flinch.

"I can satisfy you, John. Whatever they did for you, I can too. Whatever you want, I can be that, John. You don't need to tell me anything you don't want to. I love you and accept you just as you are."

It was John's turn to flinch at Sherlock's unknowing words. "Yes, love," he replied, trying to keep his voice steady. "That was never in doubt. You are beautiful, brilliant and more ideal than any Mysterious Alpha I ever could have imagined. This is not about you, it's about me."

"John, I…"

"Stop." John raised his hand between them. "You need to know, and this won't get any easier by delaying or interrupting. You need to have the facts, first. Then you can decide if you truly want to bond me…" John cleared his throat but forced himself to press on, "Or if you just want me to wear your collar without a biological bond."

Sherlock hissed through his teeth before spitting out, "Never. I would  _never_  treat you like that. What would you have me do, keep you as some sort of concubine with the outward form of commitment but leaving myself free to abandon you if circumstances change? Or is it that  _you_  wish to be free to return to your army Omega life?"

"God, no!" said John, startled. "I would never go back to that, not even if you kicked me out on the street."

Sherlock gathered John into his arms and pulled him onto his lap. "Then nothing can ever separate us. I will listen to whatever you have to say, then I will bond you and that will be the end of it. You will know for sure that I would die for you. You killed for me, and I would do that too, but I would leap off a ledge into a waterfall full of rocks and  _die_  for you if you needed me to, rather than have some sort of sham bonding. Now, as long as you understand that, tell me whatever has been bothering you so we can kill it and dispose of the body."

John laughed weakly. "If only it were so easy."

Sherlock's hand rubbing circles on his back did not falter as he only repeated, "Tell me."

"It was after my shoulder injury. You probably don't know this, but contraceptive implants are usually inserted into the upper arm, for ease of access. They don't need to be in the abdomen or near the ovaries or anything because the slow release hormones travel through the whole body anyway. So when I was wounded in the shoulder, my implant was in the contaminated area and had to be removed."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed, but he simply nodded for John to continue.

"They found out then that my contraceptive implant had not been working." John could feel his voice becoming higher and tighter, and he forced himself to spill the words out while he could still talk. "It had been inserted incorrectly, I don't know how, and instead of slowly releasing contraceptive hormones into my bloodstream it had just been sitting there, lodged in a tendon. It was still full. I'd been through all those heats with twelve Alphas knotting me night and day - and I never got pregnant. It was all in my discharge papers, and Dr Aasif even told me to read them, but I... I didn't want to read about the injury and it never seemed important enough, so I didn't know until I emailed HR and then... I wanted to tell you, but that was the day we went shopping for the collar and I just couldn't..."

John buried his head in Sherlock's shoulder and poured out the rest of the story, "Even when I was young, my heats were always far apart - six weeks isn't a normal cycle length - and quite irregular, despite living with a group of highly fertile Alphas. Male Omegas are rare, because we have lower than normal fertility. I'm older now than most female Omegas when they have their first child. If you still want to bond, you must know… you  _must_  know beforehand that I'm infertile and that we will never have children."

John gulped in a deep breath and forced himself to sit up, away from Sherlock, and to stare into his face. "You are younger than I am, and gorgeous and brilliant, and you deserve to have children as gorgeous and brilliant as you are. I don't want to keep you in a barren bond when you may one day decide you want them too. If you don't bite me, and we don't bond biologically, then you can still go and father children with someone else, and they won't scent me all over you. I…" John could feel his eyes filling with shame and grief, "I would still raise your children by another Omega."

"Stop! Do you even know how insulting you are being? How dare you try to tell me what I want and what I 'deserve'? I want  _you_." Sherlock pulled John back to rest tightly against his body, rocking him slightly as he wept with both sorrow and relief. "I've never thought that much about children one way or another, but you really are being an  _idiot_  if you think I would choose potential, hypothetical children over bonding you in the here and now. I choose you. Always. If we never have children, then we never do. If we decide we want them together, then we'll adopt some from my homeless network - God knows there are plenty of children wandering around loose if you have a fancy for one." Sherlock waved a hand expansively.

John sniffled and gave a watery smile. "I don't think adopting is quite that simple, Sherlock. Even as a bonded pair, any magistrate would look at our lifestyle (and our fridge) and decide that we were not suitable to be parents."

"Pshaw," Sherlock made a noise of disgust. "If we ever decide to go down that path, I'll let Mycroft abuse his power on our behalf and get us whatever kind of child you want, John."

John gave a slightly more genuine smile. "You'd talk to Mycroft about it? Then it really is true love!"

"Yes," said Sherlock simply, giving John a kiss on the nose. "It is. If we've settled that, I think we should go to bed. You're exhausted, and I want you in top condition for our bonding heat."

"You're sure? This is your absolutely last chance to back out. Once we bite and our scents mingle, then even if one of us dies the other will still be marked for life."

"I'm absolutely sure." Sherlock suddenly stood up, spilling John off his lap and onto the couch, ignoring his slight squeak of indignation. "In fact…" he swept out of the room and into the bedroom, where John could hear him rummaging in his bag.

Sherlock returned with small embossed black box. He knelt in front of John and slowly lifted off the lid. Inside was the leather collar, rolled up neatly and nested on a bed of gold tissue paper. Sherlock lifted out the collar and unrolled it to show John the small letters imprinted in gold. "Will you accept my collar and my bond? All that I am and all that I have, I offer you with love and joy. I would be honoured if you would take my hand." He leaned forward to whisper in John's ear, "And the rest of me is rather keen for a piece of the action as well."

John laughed, though his eyes were still slightly wet. "Yes, yes of course. God, yes! If you want me, you know I belong to you. I always have." He leaned into Sherlock to kiss him quickly, then sat straight again. "Do it. Put your collar on me, then take me to bed."

Sherlock lovingly wrapped the soft leather around John's throat and pulled it through the buckle until it sat snugly around the base of his neck. Sherlock adjusted the buckle so that it sat over his left carotid pulse. He could feel the material warming and softening with his body heat, settling against his skin until it seemed like part of him.

"Perfect," breathed Sherlock. "Come look in the mirror and see how amazing, how magnificent you look with my collar on you."

Together they rose and went into the ridiculously large bathroom, where they stood together in front of the full-length mirror. John had to admit, they looked well-matched. Sherlock was all contrasts, pale skin and dark hair. John was all sunlight, gold skin and blond hair, but the addition of the deep brown collar added a touch of variation - now he had shade, as well as light.

John stepped closer to the mirror, to examine the collar more closely. The gold buckle sat to the left of his throat, at the matching position on the right was a small gold embossed  _SH_. It looked balanced, tasteful. It made him feel delightfully claimed, owned.

"Mmm," he murmured with satisfaction. "I should take it off now, until we are properly bonded."

"Yes," agreed Sherlock without moving.

"We don't want anything to happen to it." John couldn't stop staring at it in the mirror.

"No, definitely not," said Sherlock.

"My heat could start at any moment, and then the collar might get damaged."

"It might."

"Well, then I'm going to bed," said John, finally tearing his eyes off the enchanting sight and turning away towards their bedroom.

"John, you still have the collar on," said Sherlock, reluctantly.

"Oops," John shrugged. "Shame that. I guess I forgot to take it off. It's probably your fault for not reminding me."

"Ah, yes. Probably."

They curled up together in the bed, the moonlight from the open window streaming across them and glinting off the gold buckle and monogram on John's collar. They were in it together now, fully committed for better or worse and (damn social convention) that collar was never coming off again.

They fell asleep with John cradled in Sherlock's arms, one of Sherlock's hands on his waist, the other draped over his neck with one long finger resting against where the gold initials pulsed warmly with every beat of John's heart.


End file.
